


The Masks we Wear

by JiggleWigs



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: AU, Anastasia AU, Displaced Royalty AU, Eventual Zutara, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Weird Father-son Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-05-25 00:11:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6172273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JiggleWigs/pseuds/JiggleWigs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Soon after the birth of Fire Prince Ozai's second child, an attack on the Fire Nation Royal Family causes the fall of the monarchy of the Fire Nation and the alleged death of all those related to the Fire Lord. Fifteen years later, with the war ended and the Fire Nation fallen, a young man strives only to support and protect his sister and single mother in the Lower Ring of Ba Sing Se, but when a chance to permanently provide for both of them as well as learn the truth about his past arises, he'll risk everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Ozai wakes, it’s to a dim haze that clouds his vision enough to convince him he’s dreaming. Everything has a strange, ethereal glow to it as wisps of the haze curl through the air above his lush bedding and he blinks lazily and rolls onto his back. It’s almost peaceful, he muses, taking in a deep breath as he arches his back off of the bed in a languid stretch. But as soon as he finishes the breath, his lungs start to burn and the acrid smell greets him like an old friend.

 _Smoke_.

He’s stumbling out of bed before his brain can even fully demand the action, trying to spot the source of the wisps of smoke. Nothing in the room is on fire, he finds, but he can feel flames distantly in his core, his bending easily pinpointing its element in the adjoining rooms. Panic surges through the Prince as he realizes how _much_ fire there is. It would take a dozen benders to contain such a flame and disperse it. This raises the question of why the dozens of bending guards let the fire get so out of control.

A soft cough draws his attention, looking back at Ursa’s form beneath the covers. She’s groggily waking, but she’s visibly dazed by the smoke. As a firebender, Ozai knows he possesses a semi-immunity to light smoke inhalation, but he was well aware of the fact that she didn’t have the same privilege. He doesn’t try to be gentle with her as he drags her from her spot, pulling her against his chest before he lifts her into his arms and forces her to stand.

“Ozai, what…” She starts, but he’s already tugging her towards the doors to their suite. Smoke is rolling in from the crack between the door and the quickly blackening floor, and he braces himself as he throws open the doors. They’re met with a wall of midnight fog, Ozai’s eyes burning and throat itching violently. The uncontrollable watering of his eyes combined with the darkness created by the smoke makes it impossible for him to see where he’s going, but he knows the halls of the palace like the back of his hand and navigates from the room to the best of his ability.

When he breaks through the smoke, the pair immediately try to gasp in as much fresh air as possible. It’s only somewhat effective, the air in this part of the hall being marginally cleaner than the pungent air that had clouded their chambers. It’s enough to clear Ozai’s head, though, and now he tries to hear past his pounding heart to _listen_.

The crackling of nearby flames, the groaning of slowly yielding support beams constructed mostly of wood, the lazy _woosh_ of air being forced through the halls by the fire—he strains his ears to hear past it all. Only then does he hear the distant chants. He can’t make out the words, but the methodical, ominous tones are enough to tell him exactly what they’re facing. This isn’t an accidental fire gone unnoticed, this is an attack.

“We need to get the children and leave.” Ozai murmurs, his voice gruff as he tries to clear the itch, “ _Now_.” Ursa seems to come to life, suddenly, eyes widening and flashing panic before she pushes past him and races down the hall. He calls after his wife, immediately running after her, but while he has strength, she has speed and he loses her in the blinding smog. He presses on anyway, but it seems a fruitless pursuit. Zuko and Azula’s rooms were a short distance from their own, hardly much of a walk under normal circumstances, but as he passes by several blacked out windows, a support beam gives out.

It crashes down in front of him in a shower of scalding embers and even more plumes of smoke. He flinches away at the last minute, and it’s only when he feels the trickle of hot blood down his nose and cheek does he realize that a few splintered shards of stone had caught his face, slicing across his brow, nose and cheek. The pain doesn’t register. None of the inconveniences matter much as he latches onto the existing flames of the fallen beam with his bending and jerks his arms back in a basic form, dragging the fire and the heat that came with it away from the wreckage and towards himself. It scalds him for a moment, the element roaring and twisting in the air before he shifts his weight and tosses the heat against the blackened windows. It hits the glass impotently, and Ozai is already bolting over the cooled debris towards what’s left of the hallway that had housed his children’s bedrooms.

By Agni’s grace alone, the first room seems mostly intact. Azula’s door hangs open, her crib empty and the heavy blankets missing. Ozai can only assume Ursa’s beaten him here, and moves on to Zuko’s room at the end of the hall. He’s met with nothing less than chaos, skidding to a halt as the scene unfolds before him.

Ursa indeed has Azula in her arms, her torso bent forward protectively over the wailing child. Between the Prince and his family stands what looked to be palace guards, their armor coated in heavy layers of soot and ash, but when they advance on her and the children, he comes to the realization that these particular guards were either spies or traitors.

Either way, Ozai doesn’t hesitate in summoning precise jets of fire from his fists and charging at the assailants. He’s in mid-pounce when a hand fists in his hair and painfully yanks him out of the air, throwing him to the ground unceremoniously but refusing to release the hold on his aching scalp.

“Look’it here! I caught a Prince.” Ozai growls, immediately attempting to get up and return to his assault, but the guard— _traitor,_ Ozai realizes, as he looks into dull golden eyes partially obscured by the traditional helmet of the Royal Guard—keeps his grip in Ozai’s hair tight and slams his fist into the ground. It yanks Ozai’s head along with it, drawing a cry from him as the side of his head connects with the stone floor.

“I knew we’d smoke you out. Didn’t think you’d be so easy to catch, though.” The world spins out of focus as Ozai tries to blink it back into one image, the voice sounding miles away, “Maybe consider a haircut.” The traitor chuckles and the solid heel of a boot slams into Ozai’s side, drawing a hiss from him. He’s about to retort, the venomous words already on his tongue, but the whole area suddenly seems to rattle for a moment before the deafening sound of charred stone giving way resonates through the hall. Glass shatters as the walls contort, sending a fine spray of stinging shards into the bare skin of his back.

The doorway to Zuko’s room is hardly more than a charred pile of wood and rock where Ursa had once stood, flames licking at what few pieces of wood remained intact and sparks popping out sporadically as if to bite at the shocked guards standing before the rubble. Suddenly, Ozai doesn’t have much time for words.

He can’t reach the guard from his awkward position on the floor, one arm pinned beneath his own weight and the guard’s armored hand fisted in his raven hair. He’s just out of his reach, but in one solid twist, Ozai slices through his hair with a fire dagger and uses the new freedom to kick the traitor in the stomach. The enraged Prince transitions from the kick onto his feet and into a defensive pose gracefully, easily sending one last flaming kick to the guard’s head that sends his helmet skidding across the floor and forces the man into the nearest wall. The sound of the solid _thump_ is satisfying enough, but he doesn’t have time to focus on it when the small group of guards charges him.

They’re dispatched almost too easily, a number of them being nonbenders and one even seeming young enough to be a teenager, wide green eyes blinking as he rips the boys helmet off and slams him into the scorching wall. They both practically hear the sizzle where his skin meets the heated stone and begins to cook flesh.

“We’re going to play a game, peasant.” Ozai growls, his fist closing around the other’s slender throat. The armor was much too big on him, the protective cuffs around his neck giving Ozai more than enough room to comfortably wrap his fist around it.

“A-A…a game? I don’t unders—” Ozai clenches his hand and the boy chokes, clawing at the powerful grip denying him air.

“Let me elaborate.” He heats his hand, his prey’s neck starting to blister as well as his own hand, but he doesn’t pay it much mind, “If my family is alive, then your outcome will be favorable. If they are dead, then I will _cook you alive_ , starting from the bottom up.” Ozai can feel that his grin is too wide, bearing too many teeth to be friendly, and it has just the effect he had hoped for. The boy is shaking under his hand, tears streaming down his cheeks and dripping onto the Prince’s scorched wrists.

“Now, start digging.” He throws the peasant at the rubble of Zuko’s doorway, watching as he nearly slips in the blood of one of the fallen guards. It only spurs the boy on, his fear doubling as he tears apart chunk after chunk of scorching debris and throws it aside. He won’t shut up, though, nervously babbling.

“I don’t have anything against your family _,_ really I—I wouldn’t want to hurt a kid! Or kids. I mean one of them’s a baby, right? That’d be messed up to kill a baby. We just were gonna…” Ozai’s brows arch but he lets him babble as he digs, “Well, we…”

“What? I don’t suppose you were going to offer to take them on a midnight stroll.” The Prince says indignantly, resting a foot on the boys hunched back and leaning his weight into it, “Don’t lie to me. Who are you, and who is orchestrating this?” The boy seems to get a second wind, glaring up at Ozai.

“Everyone.”

“Don’t be coy, I want answers.” Stone starts to crumble near the top of the collapsed doorway as the boy pushes a larger hunk of rubble out of the way.

“That _is_ the answer. This is a collaborative effort by all the nations to take your pompous family and its tyrannical ways _down_. The Earth Kingdom, the Water Tribe—it’s _all_ of us. Even some of your own citizens.” There’s a smugness to his tone that makes Ozai’s lip curl in distaste, “We already killed the Fire Lord, it’s _over_.” The boy stops in his digging entirely to study how Ozai takes that news, but for the most part, he doesn’t visibly react.

“And my brother?”

“General Iroh? We’ll find him. He escaped our attack on his base near Ba Sing Se but we got his son.” Ozai had a creeping suspicion that _got_ meant something far darker. His nephew was most likely dead.

“What were you saying about not wanting to kill children?” The boy blinks, immediately returning to digging with renewed fervor.

“We’re doing what we have to to end the war. It’s not pretty.” Ozai pushes away from him, watching more of the doorway open up. Over the sound, he thinks he might hear a familiar wailing.

“Yes, well, I suppose lying is the least of your sins, then.” The boy doesn’t stop digging, but his motions get more aggressive.

“Considering what your family has done to the world, I don’t think you’re up for judging other people for their _sins_ , oh, _Fire Prince_.” With one last tug, the entire blockage falls apart and he sees Ursa huddled in the far corner of the room. She’s obviously expecting another attack, twisting her torso to shield Azula from whatever threat was facing her.

“It’s your lucky day, _boy_.” Ozai says, gripping his shoulder and yanking him up onto his feet. He’s about to speak, presumably to make another snide remark, but the Prince yanks a dagger from the boy’s belt and whips it through the front of the false guard’s throat before he gets the chance. He immediately topples to the ground in a spray of blood that spatters Ozai’s starkly contrasting skin. Confused emerald eyes stare up at him, questioning.

“Having your throat slit is considered favorable to burning alive. Congratulations.” He says dryly, turning from him and disappearing into Zuko’s room. The damage done by the fire is more noticeable here, a good portion of the ceiling in the front of the room having caved in and littered the floor with the remains of the furnishings from the floor above. Flames weakly flicker on the debris, but it’s clear that they’ve nearly burnt themselves out on the limited material.

“Ozai, what is this?” Ursa asks, straining to speak over Azula’s cry.

“I’d wager that it’s a rebellion. And a poorly thought out one, at that.” Ozai answers, placing a hand on her back and ushering her out towards the hall. He pauses, though; having thought Zuko was behind her during the attack. He does a quick scan of the room and finds no sign of his son. The sheets of his bed are barely disturbed, only ruffled in the center as if he’d been carefully slipped out of them in his sleep.

“Where is Zuko?” He questions, and the panicked gaze she gives him reaffirms his suspicions.

“He wasn’t here when I came in, they must have—” She’s quickly working herself up into a panic. Ozai interrupts her if only to keep her from making herself completely useless in her panic.

“I will find Zuko. I need you to take Azula and get out of the palace.” He doesn’t need to tell her to take the underground passages; she’d been made well aware of them as soon as she’d become the Princess. She’s already starting to argue, frightened tears spilling from her irritated eyes as she speaks hurriedly.

“I can’t just _leave_ without my son! I have to find him. I have to go with you, please, Ozai.” She begs, but he’s already pushing her through the doorway into the hall. She steps into the lukewarm puddle of blood just outside the gaping hole of the doorway, staring down at the peasant’s body in horror.

“ _I will find him_. Wait for me at the docks, but stay out of sight. Once I have Zuko, I will bring him to you.” Her eyes search his for sincerity, and he returns the gaze unflinchingly. He can see that she’s trying to formulate some kind of response that will allow her to stay, but she’s as smart as she is stubborn and knows she’s no match for the intruders and will only slow down Ozai’s efforts to find Zuko. She’s aware that the best thing she can do for her son is to leave him for the time being.

“Bring him back in one piece.” She orders. He responds with a curt nod, the singed ends of his now shoulder length hair tickling his cheeks with the movement.

And then she’s gone, hurrying down the hall to the hidden panel that had once been concealed behind a rich tapestry that hung from the high ceiling. It now hung sadly against the dingy wall, the ends of it burned an ugly brown and the golden threads along its edges having lost their luster. She closes the panel behind her with one last glance over her shoulder at him, and he’s quick to shove some of the smoldering wreckage of the palace up against it. The escape tunnels only have so many entrances, and the more he can block off, the safer they would be.

He doesn’t know where to begin searching for Zuko. He runs down familiar halls turned alien by the shifting stones and burnt rubble at random, peering into each room he passes but refraining from calling Zuko’s name. Those few imposters hadn’t been the only ones stalking the palace, Ozai encountering a small group of them every couple minutes. Some he manages to avoid, ducking out of their view or into an abandoned room, while he’s forced to confront others that he can’t hide from.

By the time he reaches the other end of the palace he’s exhausted, sweating profusely, covered in soot and blood—whose blood was anyone’s guess—and quickly giving up hope on finding the boy. He takes a deep breath as he leans against one of the more intact walls, but the air is too thick to do him any good. He hadn’t taken a breath of fresh air in well over an hour, and it’s starting to slow him down. His movements are less precise, more sluggish and awkward, and every muscle seems to be slowly giving up. And then he hears a cry that makes him jolt away from the wall as if a live wire has been run through him.

“ _Dad!_ ”

The throne room is the last room he has yet to check, and it was the source of the call. The massive, imperial doors lay shattered on the ground. The stone of the floor had obviously been manipulated with earthbending, and the large slabs of marble stood against the ruined doorway. As he staggers into the room, he finds the throne room has taken the most damage out of any room in the palace. The ceiling is completely engulfed in flames, huge chunks of it missing entirely and revealing the moon and stars above. It has the advantage of emptying the smoke from the room, but it does nothing to relieve the oppressive heat provided by the multitude of fires burning freely. Expensive tapestries, rugs, wooden columns, and the wooden arch above the Fire Lord’s seat all provided ample fuel for the fires.

Under the flaming arch, he sees a form lying lifeless and bound; the flames from above creeping dangerously near the corpse. Ozai kneels before it, pushing him onto his back and looking down at the bloodstained face before him. The hard lines of his fathers face had seemed to have finally softened, his pale golden eyes having already started to gain a post-mortem haze. The cause of death is clear, Ozai notes, as he pushes aside the Fire Lord’s outermost sleeping garb and sees the spears of stone lodged deep into his chest and abdomen. It draws Ozai’s attention that not only were his robes damp with cooling blood, but there were traces of quickly evaporating water as well.

The boy hadn’t been lying. This was a group effort of separate nations to take down the Royal Family, and it was succeeding. Iroh’s son, the heir to the throne now that Azulon was dead and Iroh was the unofficial Fire Lord, was dead. Iroh had apparently escaped, but the chances for his survival when any of his troops could be spies or traitors were slim. His own chances were slim, he realizes, as he feels a sharp pain in the back of his thigh when he attempts to stand.

He initially assumes it’s an injury he hadn’t noticed, but when he touches the spot he finds splintered stone jutting out of his skin and feels warm blood start to soak into the thin fabric of his sleeping pants. He has enough sense to drop to the ground as more shards coming flying at him, watching them slam into the mural behind the flaming arch and shatter.

“ _Dad!_ ” He hears it again, muffled this time, and rolls onto his back with a pained grunt as he grinds the residual glass shards into his skin. There’s a huge amount of faux guards and blatant rebels alike in this room, even more emerging from the shadows that he hadn’t bothered to check on his way in. He curses his own carelessness.

“Don’t resist, and we’ll let your son live.” The closest rebel, dressed in dark Earth Kingdom greens, says. Ozai’s eyes shift from the man’s face to the squirming toddler in his arms, a strip of bloodstained cloth tied around his mouth and behind his head. His mop of black hair is clumped oddly, and after a long moment of speculation, Ozai realizes it’s with the boy’s own blood. A wound on the left side of his forehead that starts halfway through his brow and disappears beneath his hairline is bleeding sluggishly, leaking between his eyes and down his cheek to join the frightened tears.

“Is that so?” Ozai grits out. As much as it pains his pride to do, Ozai stays flat on his back as he speaks, not wanting to give the rebel any excuse for killing Zuko. The only movement he makes is the clenching of his fists at his sides.

“Yes. This will go better for both of you if you cooperate, _Fire Prince_.” The way the rebels spit his proper title make indignant rage boil in his gut.

“Very well.” Ozai responds after a long silence, his gaze flickering to the ceiling as it lets out a low groan. The remaining support beams shudder ominously.

“On your knees.” The prince forces himself to repress the grin pulling at his lips, shifting to put his knees beneath him and sit up. The stone buried in his thigh protests, the shifting of his muscles pulling against it painfully.

“Put your hands on the floor.” The ceiling gives another groan, chunks of stone raining on them like scalding hail. Ozai does as he’s commanded, waiting for his moment to strike. Rock closes around his hands and over the apex of his calves, locking him on all fours before the rebel. It complicates his plan somewhat, but he grits his teeth and attempts to start taking in deeper breaths of the tainted air.

As the rebel approaches, Ozai stays in what could be considered a mock position of respect, his elbows meeting the floor and his knees curled beneath him with his head bowed to the point of nearly brushing the floor. He listens for the man’s distance, grinning as he hears him ascend the last steps. He draws a final, exceedingly deep breath that tastes of blood and smoke, and when he releases it, he cranes his neck back.

A vibrant plume of flame leaves the space in front of his mouth, just barely skittering over Zuko’s head and striking the rebel squarely in his smug face. If he could have taken in a proper breath of fresh air, the fire would have torn the flesh from his skull in that instant, but instead it sears his skin and ignites his hair. The man screeches, stumbling back and dropping the toddler in his arms as if he were some inconsequential object.

There are already waterbenders rushing forward with wavering bands of liquid following their hands, moving to extinguish the blaze of the man’s hair. Ozai uses the distraction to his advantage, heating the stone restraints enough to weaken them before he snaps the earth from his hands and reaches behind himself to do the same to the ones bracing his calves. In the same motion, he stands and scoops Zuko up, already halfway across the room by the time the attacks continue.

Ice shards come first, and he easily dispatches them with a short motion of his free arm that summons a thin wall of flames. When the slabs of stone come, he ducks behind what remains of a decorative pillar, clutching Zuko to his chest tightly. He can feel the boy shaking, his cries muffled by the gag as he clutches at his father.

“Shh…” Ozai murmurs somewhat awkwardly. Comforting children had never been his expertise. It certainly doesn’t help when both flames and rock collide with his impromptu cover, only serving to make Zuko flinch away and cry with more fervor. Ozai lets out an annoyed sound, looking to his goal. A short distance away, he can see the largest hidden panel in the palace, designed for this purpose exactly. The connection to the escape tunnels in the Fire Lord’s throne room is the most stable one and was the hardest for any other bender to penetrate, consisting of only solid steel. Reaching it without being impaled was serving to be a challenge, though.

As if by pure luck, the ceiling gives one more shudder before nearly a third of it gives way at once, falling like a dying animal around them. Support beams, marble and thick roof tiles pound against the ground and the chaos of the rebels trying to avoid being crushed is loud enough to make his ears ring. Ozai barely avoids losing a leg to a heavy, scorched stone. He clutches Zuko close, trying to hear over the boy’s whimpering for the sound of his assailants. There’s no sound but the crackling of flames and the fading ringing in his ears. The Prince doesn’t waste the chance, darting from behind the cover and speeding over to the hidden panel to the best of his ability in his current state.

The panel is a work of Fire Nation technical mastery, the locking mechanism only being triggered by a strategic series of fire blasts that only the Fire Lord and his direct descendants were allowed knowledge of. Admittedly, it had been a number of years since he’d been taught the combination and the squirming child in his arms was doing him no favors. It takes several unsuccessful tries, but when the door finally unlocks, Ozai makes a relieved sound and stumbles into the pitch-black tunnel. He barely has the strength to yank the heavy door shut behind him, the momentous effort sapping the last of his strength as it closes and locks with a definitive sound.

Ozai finds his body sliding down to the rough floor without his knowledge, Zuko falling into his lap. The Prince manages to tug Zuko’s gag off before his arm falls limply to his side. Ozai’s not dying, he’s sure of that, but the exhaustion brought on from smoke inhalation and blood loss is taking its toll on him. His eyelids droop, and he rests his head back against the cool metal of the door. It’s not comfortable by any means, the mechanisms of the lock digging into the raw skin of his lacerated back, but sleep still nags at him.

“Where’s mom?” Zuko finally speaks, his voice weak and quivering.

 _Ursa_. He knows she’s waiting for him at the end of this tunnel system, but the thought of actually making that trek is one Ozai has trouble wrapping his head around.

“ _Where’s mom?_ ” Zuko pesters, and Ozai lets out an annoyed growl. He supposes he has the boy to thank for forcing him to stand.

“She’s waiting for us.” Ozai grumbles, more dragging himself forward than walking. Zuko is asking more questions, but the roaring in Ozai’s head drowns him out and he spends the duration of the trudge in pained silence. The tunnels seem to go on forever, the air thick and musty, but suddenly he’s stumbling out of the tunnel’s concealed end. When fresh air meets his lungs he could practically praise Agni for the privilege of breathing it, but there’s still just a hint of smoke in the air.

Looking back, he can see the palace in the distance. It’s little more than a bonfire, now, the tallest points crumbling in on themselves as the flames reach higher into the night sky. His home, his life, everything he’d ever known had been in those crumbling walls. Distantly, he feels something pull at his insides but quickly forces the feeling down. He doesn’t have the energy for grief.

Zuko’s weight suddenly leaves his arms, and he whips his head back around to see Ursa cradling Azula in one arm while propping Zuko on her hip and holding him with the other. She’s speaking to him in soft, motherly coos and it’s remarkably effective at silencing his cries. Or at least, he thinks it is. All of the noises of the area blur together into a confusing slur. The sound of the waves crashing on the shore, the crackling of the distant blaze, and Ursa’s murmuring—it’s all one and the same.

“My father is dead.” Ozai states, already making his way towards the closest boat, “Lu Ten is dead.” He adds over his shoulder. He sees tiny particles of glass and stone buried in the skin there.

“We’re next, if we don’t leave.” He hums, untying the boats anchor. It’s someone’s personal fishing vessel, but he couldn’t care less about its purposes. It was a vessel away from the palace, and that was all he needed.

“What are we supposed to do?” Ursa asks, watching him hop from the dock to the deck of the boat. His legs nearly give out when he lands, and he’s reminded of the chunk of rock buried in the back of his thigh. He tugs it out with a grunt, throwing it into the water.

“Get as far away from the palace as possible, as quickly as possible.” Ursa cautiously crosses the gap, looking up at her husband as he speaks in an almost bored tone, “And after that…” Ozai trails off in favor of heading to the controls of the ship. It’s not a steam-powered ship, instead relying on the wind and its sails. She’s fairly sure Ozai has little to no experience with such a thing.

“After that?” Ursa asks. He sighs, raking a hand through his cropped hair.

“We’ll discuss that if we’re still alive to discuss it.” 

* * *

 

**_15 Years Later_ **

In the mayhem that was the afternoon rush in the Lower Circle of Ba Sing Se, it was impossible for the young man to pass through the streets without rubbing elbows with at least a few of the more unseemly citizens. He clutches the bag over his shoulder a little more tightly, feeling for the small satchel of coins buried at the bottom of the bag to ensure they were still there.

“Ah, so he lives.” A kind, feminine voice draws his attention through the crowd and he pushes past a portly couple to reach the edge of the food cart.

“For the most part. Mom practically bored me to death with that speech I got.” He chuckles, plucking one of the sweet rolls off of the tray as the woman sets it down. She gives him a warning look, but doesn’t otherwise chide him for it.

“Come on, Lee, at least all you got was a lecture. It could’ve been worse.” Lee shrugs, pushing the unruly mop of dark hair out of his eyes as he nibbles on the roll.

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I enjoyed it.” Lee huffs, “We needed the money. We _always_ need the money. So I…took it. I’m providing for my family, why is that a bad thing?” He pops the last of the roll into his mouth, his cheeks puffing out as he chews.

“Because you’ll get arrested, which, if you need a reminder, is _bad_.” She answers. His only response is a roll of his eyes as he pushes away from her cart. He swallows heavily before speaking.

“Like I’m the only thief in Ba Sing Se.” He murmurs, catching the back of a passing cart loaded with logs heading in from Agrarian Zone, “My ride is here. I’ll see you later.” He ducks low enough that the driver of the cart won’t be able to see him should he turn and look back, and settles in an awkward position. His knees are bent beneath him, his feet planted against the small ledge at the back of the cart and his hands grip the rickety edges of the cart. He’s done this enough times, but he never grows used to the splinters in his palms.

Despite that, it’s still the most efficient way of getting to his family home near the woodworking shop unmolested and with his small amount of stolen coins intact. The cart jolts to a stop, and he nearly slams his forehead into a displaced log before he jumps off and crosses the street to avoid suspicion from the driver. It’s only a short walk from there, and when he steps inside he can hear his mother already beginning to prepare dinner for that night.

“Mom? I’m home.” He hears the shifting of pots and pans before she answers.

“You were gone for a while. You did get what I asked for, didn’t you?” She asks, poking her head out from the kitchen. She’s not very far away, what can generously be called a living room being too small to put much distance between the kitchen and the front door.

“Of course. You wanted a dozen sweet rolls, right?” Lee digs around in his bag, careful to leave the satchel of coins undisturbed as he tosses the bundle of vegetables to his mother. They weren’t the freshest specimens, but in his mother’s stew there was a good chance it would go largely unnoticed.

“Very funny.” She chuckles, pulling open the bag and digging through it to examine the contents. Satisfied, she hums and disappears back into the kitchen. Lee’s already attempting to slink off into the next room, acutely aware of the small weight of the coins in his bag, but his mothers subtle throat clearing stops him in his tracks. He fidgets, longingly looking at the thin, bedraggled door to privacy and fisting the fabric of his bag.

“You uh…you want some help, Mom?” He asks, his tone strained with false optimism.

“What a _kind,_ unprompted offer.” She responds, “You can help me peel the vegetables.” Lee keeps his groan restrained, hesitantly setting his bag down and pushing it aside with his worn boot. He tries to keep his gate relaxed, but his shoulders can’t seem to lose their tenseness as he steps up beside her. She pushes the cutting board—hardly more than a charred piece of wood—towards him with the overly ripe vegetables sitting atop it.

“So…” She murmurs, and he can already feel her amber eyes searching him and pointedly refuses to meet her gaze as he takes the knife from the counter, “You just went to the market, bought the food, and came home?” She stresses the word ‘bought,’ trying to keep her tone nonchalant but failing. Lee has to keep from accidentally scorching the potato in his grip due to his annoyance.

“ _Yes_.” He lies through gritted teeth, skimming the knife along the potatoes skin harshly, “Are you going to assume that every time I leave the house, I’m out mugging people for fun?”

“I’m not implying that you’re _mugging_ anyone, Lee, don’t be dramatic. I’m just concerned. What if someone a little less forgiving catches you? What then? You know we don’t have the money to get you out of a prison cell.” Her eyes are so scared and worried that Lee finds a cold wash of guilt come over him and he’s forced to stare intently at the potato skins as they curl away from the knife and drop to the cutting board.

“That’s what I’m trying to fix. We don’t have the money for anything, Mom. It’s not fair to you or Jia, and I’m trying to fix that.” She stills his fidgeting hands, carefully taking the wavering knife from him and setting it aside. She returns her hands to his and clasps them gently, her thumbs brushing over the backs of his heated hands. She looks so tired as she gives him the smallest of smiles, the tiny lines around her eyes growing with the movement.

“Your sister and I are fine. We don’t need money, but we do need you. We’re a family.” Her slender fingers squeeze his, and he looks down at the matching paleness of their skin tones, “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.” He breaks away from her grip and concern crosses her face before he pulls her into his arms and hugs her tightly. When he buries his face in her hair, he can see the graying strands hidden in her brown locks. She’s young to be graying.

“You won’t lose me—” His reassurance is cut short by heavy knocking on their front door, the beating so powerful he can practically see the hinges shudder. Lee is quick to cross the room before his mother can, pulling open the door just a crack before he sees the man he recognizes as one of the more affluent vendors in the Lower Ring with his hand fisted in the back of Jia’s dark green tunic. Blood spatters the front of the fabric and smears across her chin and lips in a ghoulish parody of the lipstick of the Upper Ring nobles. Her vibrantly golden eyes seem to smolder with rage, her hands held in tight fists at her sides.

“I believe this is yours.” The towering man growls out, shoving Jia forward until she’s nearly nose to nose with her brother. He isn’t intimidated, his eyes flicking from his sibling’s to the man restraining her.

“Did you hit her?” Lee asks, his tone chilled and sharp. Heat prickles at his fingers, fire lingering just below his skin.

“She was picking fights and scaring off my customers.” He snorts. Jia doesn’t dispute him; she never seemed to have any kind of shame for a fight, instead making a motion as if she’s about to spin around and claw his eyes out. Lee is quick enough to catch her hands and pull her into the house before she can dig herself into an even deeper hole.

“ _Did you hit her?_ ” Lee repeats, standing between Jia and the vendor. The man snorts, annoyed with Lee’s repeated line of questioning.

“Yes. And I’d be happy to do it again if she causes more trouble.” He says flippantly, and Lee lets out an enraged noise as he draws his fist back. Weak flames flicker to life wildly behind his arm, uncontrolled and involuntary as he starts to throw a well-deserved punch at the opposite man. But the movement of his arm is suddenly halted as a firm grip finds his bicep and yanks back roughly, throwing him off balance and forcing him to stumble back into Jia. The collision nearly topples both of them before he regains his footing and she manages to brace herself against the nearby wall.

“I am so sorry, sir.” Lee finds the source of what had stopped him, his mother’s hand, still gripping his bicep, and glares at both her and the vendor as she apologizes, “It won’t happen again.” The vendor stares past her and down at him, seeming to be trying to decipher if he’d imagined the flashes of light around the boys fist.

“Is your boy a firebender?” He asks instead of acknowledging her apology. The laugh his mother gives is a nervous one as she releases Lee’s bicep.

“ _No_ , of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. He just has a very short temper.” She turns her head to look at him, her eyes wide with concealed panic and her mouth pulled into a false smile that bares just a few too many teeth, “Apologize to the man, Lee.” Lee lets out a sound close to a growl, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the floor as he speaks.

“I’m sorry. I guess.” He snorts, gaze flicking to his mothers annoyed face before it returns to the floor.

“Jia?” She prods. He turns his head to look to his sister who’s taken to leisurely leaning against the wall. She quirks an arched brow at the request.

“What he said.” She bites out, giving a smile similar to their mother’s but with such a different intent that the difference is striking. She pushes away from the wall and stalks into their shared bedroom before the vendor can even respond. He narrows his eyes at her retreating form before returning his gaze to the distressed mother.

“Noriko, I’ve got nothing against you. You’re a fine woman, but you need to keep your kids in line. Just because they don’t have a father doesn’t mean they’re allowed to run around stealing—” His eyes flick to Lee for a moment, “and picking fights.”

“I know. Like I said, I’m so sorry for any customers you lost due to my daughter.” Noriko murmurs, one hand clasping the other as she bows her head respectfully. Lee has to repress the urge to punch the man again.

“Is that so?” He cocks his head, a smirk pulling at his features.

“Yes.” Her head remains bowed.

“Well, how about you prove it? I lost a good chunk of change because of your kid. Now, if you could reimburse me, I’d let this whole thing drop. The authorities don’t need to know about her trouble making or your son’s sticky fingers, for that matter.” Noriko blinks, lifting her head and staring at him.

“W-We don’t have any money to give you—” The vendor’s hand grips the point of her chin and the words suddenly stop.

“Oh come on, now, I’ve heard the rumors. You don’t have _anything_ else you could offer to compensate me with?” Lee is now torn between throwing a punch and vomiting at his implications, reeling back and letting out an enraged noise. The man looks to him at the sound, uninterested.

“Why don’t you run along, boy? The grown ups are talking.” Lee doesn’t even dignify that with a response, turning on his heel and stalking over to his bag. He gets on his knees, ripping open the bag and finding the stolen satchel of coins; it’s weight heavy in his palm. He’d rather cut off his own hand than give in to this man’s extortion, especially when he’d put his own neck on the line to steal this money, but he’s not about to let his own mother sell herself for their benefit.

“Here.” Lee stands and crosses the room swiftly, gently moving his mother aside and shoving his clenched fist into the vendor’s chest, “Take your money.” He can’t find it in himself to look back at Noriko to see her reaction, shame settling heavily in his stomach. The man holds out his palm and empties the satchel into his hand, letting out a low whistle.

“Now where did you get a hold of this, I wonder?” He smirks, but Lee has no patience for his jabs.

“That doesn’t matter. You have your money, do we have a deal?” The man studies him critically before he shrugs and dumps the heavy coins back into the satchel. He seals it and shrugs.

“I suppose. The authorities won’t hear about you or your degenerate sister from me—” Perhaps he had more to say but Lee isn’t interested beyond that point and slams the door in his face. He’s seething, and he can just barely catch the flames of the stove roaring a little higher.

“Lee, _where_ did you get that money?” She asks, but it comes out as more of a statement. He walks past her and grabs his bag off of the floor, feeling the absence of the coins’ weight.

“It’s gone now, why does it matter?” He spits back, clutching the strap of the bag too tightly. He can smell the fabric singing under his palms, “Why did he ask that of you? Why didn’t you say no?” He demands, and when she doesn’t look directly at him, he can practically feel the bile rising in his throat.

“There are things you don’t know. It’s better that way.” In that one horrifying moment, he thinks of all the times that he and Jia had caused trouble and all the consequences had just disappeared. He remembers being led away by his mother after mysterious absences with eyes that shined with too much moisture and a trembling hand. He’d never considered, never even thought, something so depraved could have been the case. His anger quickly turns to disgust, and he has to sit in the rickety chair to keep from falling over. He’d known he’d gotten off too easily for stealing before, the charges being reduced to petty rumors and jokes at his expense instead of jail time, but he’d had no idea the real cost his own mother had paid for his carelessness.

He opens his mouth to speak, but he can’t find the words. He rakes his hands through his shaggy hair, his breath leaving him in a plume of steam as he tries to control the whirlwind of emotions. Nothing helps. His skin feels too hot and sweat gathers on his brow. He hears her soft footsteps as she walks past him into the kitchen, and the soft tap of the knife meeting the cutting board is the only sound in the tiny house.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nighttime stroll changes everything.

Sleep evades Lee that night, and he can’t help but eye Jia enviously as she sleeps soundly across the room. Their cots are flat and practically useless in providing any comfort on the stiff bedframes, but she doesn’t seem to care much as she curls onto her side, a soft breath leaving her as she shifts in her sleep. Now that she’s facing him, he can see the purpling bruises along her cheek and nose. The marks distort the delicate curves of her face, the swelling in her cheek enough to distort that half of her face. She’s lucky he hadn’t punched her hard enough to break anything, but she’s still going to be sporting bruises for weeks.

Not that something like that had ever bothered her. All of their mother’s pleas for her to just _try_ to behave, and to stay out of fights, had landed on deaf ears. Yet she’d never suffered any serious consequences for her fights, no matter whom it was that she assaulted. The penalties all suddenly disappeared as soon as their mother managed to get a word alone with some high-ranking member of the authorities charged with keeping peace in the Lower Ring. Now that he knew exactly what _a word alone_ entailed for his mother, he feels rage seethe in the pit of his stomach and stoke that dangerous spot inside of him that he’s learned to bury.

Smothering that flame inside of him makes him even more restless, forcing him to groan as he tries to twist and turn into a more comfortable position on his cot. The bedframe creaks and rattles, banging against the wall loudly, and Jia’s eyes snap open as she scowls at him. The moonlight seeping in from the cracks of the boarded window catches the gold of her eyes and they seem to almost glow in the dim room.

“What is your problem?” She hisses, tugging the threadbare blanket further over her shoulders. It wasn’t a rare occurrence for her to be awoken by Lee’s mumbling or frustrated sounds, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t constantly annoyed by it. It was a small blessing that she decided not to throw something at him this time.

“It’s mom.” He admits, turning his head to look at her again.

“What about her?” She asks, propping herself up onto her elbows. His eyes flicker around the room for a moment, considering. He isn’t sure if Jia knowing what mom did for them was what she wanted, but he figures that she deserves to know. Maybe it will help correct her behavior a little and save their mother the trauma.

“You know how you get in all those fights?” He starts slowly and she rolls her eyes, her delicate fingers brushing the swelling of her cheek, “And how I…get caught, occasionally? And how we’ve never actually been arrested?” Jia shrugs, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and stretching.

“Obviously. The police are incompetent.” She says flippantly. He sits up as well, leaning back against the wall bordering his cot and lightly resting his head back against it. Of course she wasn’t going to make this easy for him, that wasn’t like her.

“I don’t think they are. They’ve arrested people for less. I think— _know_ that they’re giving us special treatment.” Jia looks at him like he’s lost his mind, pausing in the motion of retying her hair.

“What does this have to do with mom?” Lee swallows heavily, the words caught in his throat like some physical obstruction.

“Well, we get special treatment because of her.” She drops her hands into her lap, sighing at his dancing around the subject, “Because she provides a…a _service_ to whoever she needs to…to make the problem… _go away_.” A heavy silence settles over the room like a sheet. Jia’s scalding eyes stare him down as she makes the connections he had been struggling to imply. He couldn’t ever utter a word like _prostitute_ when referring to his own mother, but she’s apparently finally made the leap herself.

“Funny.” Jia responds, making Lee’s jaw go slack, “Really funny. Go back to sleep.” And then she’s lying back down, bundling the blankets around her and rolling to face the opposite wall. He’s struck silent for a long moment, sputtering before he can get the words out.

“Jia, didn’t you hear me? She’s—”

“Whoring herself out to keep us from going to jail? I know you want me to stop getting in fights but I didn’t think you could stoop that low, baby brother.” He grits his teeth, an angry breath leaving him, “Now _shut up_ or leave so I can sleep.” The rage flares again, and he can’t quite contain it this time. The blanket in his fist sparks and a small flame starts in its center before he quickly pats it out. Tendrils of smoke creep up from the spot, dancing in the air as he tries to waft them away with quick jerks of his hand.

“Fine. I’m going out.” Lee huffs, stumbling out of the bed in a tangle of limbs and singed blankets. Jia doesn’t even turn to look at him, “And _I’m_ the older sibling, by the way.” He adds snidely, gathering whatever clothes he can find first in the darkness. He thinks he hears her hum out an _mmm-hmm_ but she doesn’t acknowledge his words beyond that.

“You know, even if mom wasn’t…doing what she’s doing for us, you should still stop fighting people.” He mutters, more to himself than to her as he steps behind the changing screen in the corner of the cramped room, “It’d probably be better for your health if you didn’t get punched in the face every other day.” By the time she answers him, he’s taken off his sleeping clothes and pulled on a pair of black pants he’s fairly sure are his. He wriggles in them, starting to doubt that with the snugness of them on his thighs.

“Maybe _they_ should stop fighting _me_.” She says into her pillow, earning a huff from her brother as he yanks the shirt over his head. It’s black as well, but at least he’s sure this one is his with the way it’s fitting but still hangs on him just a little more loosely. He rolls the sleeves up to his elbows before he tucks the ends of the shirt into the waist of his pants.

“Stop giving them reasons to fight you.” Lee retorts, stepping out from behind the screen. She looks up at him and barks out a quiet laugh as he hunts for his boots under his cot. He turns his head to look at her as she laughs, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“Nice outfit.” He storms past her, tugging on his boots and brooding already as he quietly opens the door and looks up and down the short hall to Noriko’s room, “Careful, the right front pocket has a hole in it.” Lee’s hand flies to his front pocket, concerned that perhaps his suspicions of these not being his pants were correct. When he finds no hole, he scowls at his smirking sister as she yawns with a forced dainty air.

“Go on, before I tell mom you’re sneaking out.” It’s an empty threat, obviously, but he’s bolting towards the front door anyway. As he closes the door behind him silently and tucks the house key into the hole-free pocket of his pants, he thinks he might hear Jia’s voice.

_Have fun, baby brother._

* * *

Even in the dead of night, the Lower Ring buzzes with activity. It’s muted compared to the daytime bustle, but there’s still a thrum of life in the narrow streets. Women of the night sit at the gaping mouths of alleyways and chat amongst themselves; dealers of weapons and substances of all kinds stalk the streets, and the hole in the wall bars that serve what can generously be called drinks are hives of activity and light. As Lee passes them, the fire in the lanterns calls to him and he stops in his tracks to watch them dance in their metal cages. When he takes a deep breath, the flames bend toward him before he releases the breath and they return to reaching for the sky.

He continues on his way, ignoring the call of the flames and even louder calls of the drunkards. The streets start branching off from each other, splitting and twisting into confusing loops that Lee knows by heart. He’s not sure where he’s going, exactly, but just running under the open night sky makes him feel lighter. So he runs until his legs burn and his chest aches with the strain of his panting. He runs until he’s reached a part of the Lower Ring even he’s rarely seen, the towering wall separating the Lower and Middle Rings coming into his sight quickly. The buildings here are sparser, mostly populated by the authority figures of the Lower Ring, and the allowance of them to have slightly more breathing room shows their social standing.

Lee only stops running when the road meets the wall. He stares at the texture of it, the seams where the giant slabs of stone meet being nearly invisible. Craning his neck back to look at its entirety, he swallows heavily and presses his palm against the cold stone. Huge and imperial, the wall stares down at him impassively, hiding the secrets of the Middle Ring from those deemed unfit to see them. It hides the lives of people so different from himself. These people that have never gone to bed hungry, or feared for their lives when a Dai Li agent stalked down their street. Never had they felt the burden of having to live as a beast of burden, making products that you would never get to enjoy. Luxuries didn’t exist here because they all went over this wall and beyond.

Fire sparks to life around his clenched fists, his own anger at the unfairness of it all coming to fruition. If they just had a little more money, a little more opportunity, they could be on the other side of this wall. They could be happy and his own mother wouldn’t have to sell herself just to keep her kids out of prison cell. The fire around his fists only builds as he bounds back from the wall. The element trails after his hands; flickering and sparking wildly like a snapping animal as he tries to control it. His lack of any formal training shows as he brings his hands together to merge the two fires, the two of them meeting clumsily and weakening significantly. It’s the best he can manage and, satisfied, he throws it at the wall impotently. It doesn’t accomplish much more than leaving a scorch mark on the off-white surface, but he feels a surge of accomplishment at having conjured fire and _done_ something with it.

He looks down at his hands, flexing his fingers. He feels the power surge through them, the thrum of fire just beneath the skin that was something both terrifying and exhilarating. It was clumsy and stilted, far from perfect, but he’d done some _real_ firebending. Perhaps, if he could find the time, he could train himself. He could find lonesome alleys and forgotten roads like this one and start to understand the forbidden element that lived within him. He could become a force to be reckoned with, and wouldn’t need his mother to protect him—

His reverie is broken when the gargantuan wall before him shivers like a living thing; flashes of light shining overtop the wall. Shocked, he staggers back as it shakes once again, the sound of colliding rock loud enough to make him flinch and cover his ears. With another thunderous sound, a crack suddenly appears a little over halfway up the wall, widening and surging further down until it meets the road in front of him and splits the dirt into a network of chasms that Lee has to jump onto an abandoned cart to avoid. Then an explosion of fire and stone ruptures the source of the crack, and a dark figure falls in a hail of scorching debris.

Lee stares up at the shadowed figure, watching their descent in awe. The houses nearby are starting to come to life, lanterns being lit as disturbed policemen begin wandering out of their houses to discover the cause of the commotion. Lee pays them no mind, brow furrowing as he watches the figure twist in mid-air until they’re facing the ground. The person’s arms pull back sharply before they thrust forward and a plume of vibrant flame explodes from them. It impacts the desolate ground, abruptly slowly their descent before they disappear behind a row of houses only a block away. Lee is left in shock, unable to move for a long few moments.

_A firebender._

And a powerful firebender, at that. In his entire life, he’d never seen another firebender so powerful as to conjure a flame so massive and strong without any kind of grounding. Lee is already leaping from the cart in the direction of the fallen stranger when he sees more shadowed forms start to fall. He recognizes their billowing robes and distinct hats as those of the Dai Li, his steps faltering. He charges forward anyway, choosing to sneak through alleys and behind houses as he approaches the small, flaming crater that had been created by the firebender’s fall.

The whole area smells sulfurous, the distinct aroma of burnt earth filling his nose, but the figure that created the discourse is nowhere to be found. Lee struggles to hold back the wash of disappointment, ducking and keeping to the shadowed alleyway as the Dai Li draw pillars of earth up to catch themselves. Once they land, the stones lower back into the ground and they immediately branch off down every possible direction, one of them brushing past Lee as he disappears down the narrow alley. Only the pitch-black shadows and a dilapidated crate keep him out of sight, his breath being held until the Dai Li agent is long gone. He releases it in a slow careful stream, running a hand over his face. The firebender was gone, now, and he could have gone in any direction. Finding him in the mazelike streets of the Lower Ring would be next to impossible.

But just when he’s about to give up and leave, there’s a shifting of wood and rubble followed by a string of short, clipped curses. He peaks out from behind his cover to see the mysterious figure climbing out from beneath a large slab of rock that must have fallen off of the wall and conveniently served as cover from the Dai Li. From this distance, Lee can make out more details about the mystery firebender. The figure stands with his back to him, and is definitely a man. His shoulders are broad, but a cloak that hangs over him hides the rest of his form. The hood of the cloak is down, allowing long, shiny black hair to fan out across his back and shoulders. When he turns his head, Lee can make out pale white skin that the moonlight bounces of off in a way that makes him seem to glow. He’s taken minimal damage from the fall; his cheek smeared with soot, and it serves to impress Lee further. Falling a distance like that and looking as if he’d simply finished cleaning out a chimney was a feat he couldn’t help but revere.

And then the crate he’s leaning on lets out a loud crack as the wood splinters and falls apart, leaving Lee stunned on the ground in a mess of wood and dust. The firebender makes an audible sound of surprise, and Lee feels the oncoming fire before he sees it. He manages to roll out of the way as the fire blast strikes the flammable material of the destroyed crate and sets it ablaze.

“Wait!” Lee calls, ducking just in time for another blast to collide with the wall over his head. It dies, withering in the air and having nothing to latch onto. The man is approaching quickly but cautiously, and now Lee can make out more of his face. Narrowed golden eyes stare him down with dark arched brows curving over them to accompany his scowl. High, defined cheekbones and a square jaw complete his hardened face. The smoothness of his skin seems at odds with his stern features. If it weren’t for the thin scar running across his forehead, the bridge of his nose and through his cheek, he would look as if he were made of porcelain.

“You’re just a child.” The man says, his voice a gravely bass that only makes his stature more intimidating. When he steps up before Lee his fists are clenched at his sides and his sharp eyes are watching him like a predator sizing up a meal. Lee has to take a moment to take in all of him before he can speak.

“I’m not a child.” He says weakly before he clears his throat and pushes his chest out, standing proudly against the wall, “I’m seventeen. Practically an adult.” Amusement sparks in the man’s eyes, and a cruel smirk pulls at his lips.

“A child.” He repeats before his powerful hand closes on Lee’s throat and shoves him back against the scorched wall, “I have no desire to kill you, _child_ , but I do need to ensure that the Dai Li don’t know which way I went. So, since I am a generous man, I will make your death painless.” His opposite fist reels back and controlled flames flare up around it. Lee lets out an embarrassing noise that he refuses to call a squeak, gripping at the man’s hand on his throat. The knuckles are rough and scarred, evidence that this man probably wasn’t bluffing.

“Wait! Wait, please! I think you can help me, and I won’t tell them where you are.” Lee holds out his hands in a display of good will, “Just give me a chance?” He asks, eyes flickering between the ball of flames—so tightly controlled that it shows the elder’s experience with it—and the man’s eyes. He lets out a breath that carries steam, lips pressing together into a tight line as he sizes Lee up. He doesn’t speak, so Lee continues nervously.

“I need someone to teach me firebending. My mother isn’t a bender and my sister and I have just…hidden it. Our bending. But I know I could be good at it if I just had someone train me.” He babbles, his neck sweating under the man’s grip and he swallows heavily before continuing, “I know firebending isn’t allowed here, but I just want to know how to control it. You’re the only other firebender I’ve ever seen that I’m not related to, and what you did with that big—that landing? I’ve never _seen_ anything like—” The man’s hand moves from Lee’s neck to his mouth, silencing him. Lee blinks, staring up at him expectantly as the fire around his fist dies.

“There are other firebenders in this city. Go find one of them.” He pulls his hand away from Lee’s mouth, turning away from him and taking in the damage of his fall. He seems almost proud, stretching the bulk of his arms over his head before he shakes them out.

“There are? I’ve seen other people who are Fire Nation, but never any other firebenders.” The man is tucking his hair back into his hood and pulling it up to cover his face and when he turns back to face him, he makes a dismissive motion with his hand. With the hood up, all Lee can see now is the curve of his lips and jaw, and it makes the man nearly impossible to read aside from his body language.

“Of course you haven’t. You said it yourself, firebending isn’t allowed. They hide it, and aren’t idiotic enough to go around displaying it at the cost of their freedom.” Lee clears his throbbing throat and takes a tentative step towards the man, fingers idly feeling around his sure to be purpling neck.

“You mean like you did?” Suddenly, his feet are lifted off of the ground and he’s nose to nose with the man, his hands fisted in the front of Lee’s shirt. Every detail of the man’s face comes into sharp focus, not even the shadow of the hood being able to hide them from him. He’s older than Lee had initially assumed, the tiny crinkles around his eyes and the nearly invisible gray strands at his temples betraying his age.

“Are you calling me idiotic?” His breath smells like smoke, and Lee has to resist the urge to cough.

“No! Of course not! You just didn’t hide your firebending.” He eyes narrow, a hot breath leaving his nose and heating the air between them before he drops Lee, and watches him stumble to catch his footing.

“It was either that, or plummet to my death. I didn’t have much choice in the matter.” The man says archly, and the way he talks makes Lee pause. It’s so strangely formal and stiff. If it weren’t for the ragged state of his cloak, he could confuse it for the Upper Ring manner of speaking. Lee is about to question him about it when he finds the man already beginning to disappear down the very alley he’d nearly killed him in.

“Hey! Where are you going?” He asks, managing to grasp the fringe of his cloak just before it’s out of his range. The firebender turns just enough for Lee to see his face, and though he can’t make out much of it, he can see his lips turn down into a scowl.

“That doesn’t concern you. My job is done, I need to get out of here before the Dai Li catch me.” He yanks the end of his cloak out of Lee’s hands, throwing it aside.

“Then come with me.” Lee offers or, more accurately, begs.

“You?” It’s better than a definite _no_ and that fills him with confidence as he speaks.

“The Dai Li don’t usually stay down here, they’ve got better things to do in the Upper Ring. I can hide you until they move on.” He explains hurriedly. He wishes Jia was here, she was always better with persuasion than he was. Still, the man seems to consider it, studying Lee from head to toe. He has a habit of doing that, and it makes Lee strangely self-conscious as he crosses his arms over his chest protectively.

“If this is a trap, I will kill you.” He finally answers indignantly, and Lee can’t stop the grin that spreads across his face.

“Great! You won’t regret this, come on.” Lee runs ahead of him, agilely hopping over debris and blockages until he’s at the other end of the alley, “I’ll be a great student. You just have to teach me the basics and I’ll take it from there—” The man makes it down the alley with a lot less agility than Lee had, opting to either burn or otherwise destroy any crates in his way but he stops in his destruction to interrupt Lee.

“I never agreed to teach you. I agreed to allowing you to hide me. Don’t make assumptions.” He huffs. Lee frowns, biting back a frustrated comment.

“Right. Sorry.” He leans out of the alley, checking for any other Dai Li agents. He only sees the group of confused policemen and citizens alike gathered closer to the wall, staring up at the crack and gaping hole in its middle. Lee nods, gesturing for the man to follow him as he darts across the road and into the next alley. He repeats this process several times until he’s further from the wall and closer to the parts of town he’s more familiar with.

“So.” Lee starts, crouching in the mouth of an alleyway as he waits for a group of drunkards to stumble past, “Why are the Dai Li after you anyway? Besides the firebending.” He feels the man shift, leaning back against the opposite wall of the alley and keeping his eyes trained on the same group that Lee is watching.

“Hazards of the job.” He answers dismissively. Lee waits for him to continue, but nothing comes.

“What job?”

“My job.”

Lee finds himself pouting, watching the drunkards as they linger right in the path they need to take. It seems his guest isn’t much for conversation.

“Fine. If you’re not going to tell me anything about you, can I at least know your name?” He asks hopefully, watching his mouth for any kind of indicator of what he’s feeling. There’s no tell there, his lips staying perfectly still, but a muscle in his jaw does clench slightly.

“My name is Lee, not that you asked.” Lee adds when he refuses to speak for several unbroken moments.

“My name.” The man repeats, crossing his arms and tapping his fingers against the ridge of his bicep in consideration. He’s trying to decide whether or not he should lie to the boy, obviously, but considering his mysterious nature, Lee isn’t really surprised. The drunks finally continue on their way, and Lee is about to spring out across the road when the firebender’s voice rings out, almost too quiet for him to hear.

“My name is Ozai.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty! So a pretty good response to the first chapter so here’s chapter two. Like I said, it’s shorter than the first now that we’ve got the ball rolling. I'm also not a huge fan of this chapter but bear with me, we're still a bit in the expositional bog.
> 
> Reviews and comments are appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal is made.

It was true that Ozai would rather be stuck with this child—and child was the correct word for the boy that had found him—than in the Dai Li’s clutches, but he was truly starting to wear on his limited patience. Lee seemed to be doing his best to impress him, doing unnecessary little hops and maneuvers here and there as they traversed the maze like streets of the Lower Ring as if to show off his agility.

“Perfect for firebending.” He’d not so subtly commented, only causing Ozai to roll his eyes in annoyance. He didn’t have time to tutor some novice in firebending, even if he was kind enough to offer him shelter from the stone fists of the Dai Li. He had a deadline to meet, and if he made his employers wait too long, there would be hell to pay for it.

“Wait here.” Lee interjects, his voice barely even a whisper. He hops over a thin wooden fence bordering what could very generously be called a house and creeps along the closest wall, peering into the windows one by one until he reaches the back of it. He disappears behind it for several long minutes, the sound of jangling metal being the only indicator that he hadn’t disappeared. Ozai grows restless, shifting from foot to foot and preparing to bolt should this be a trap, but Lee’s head soon pokes out from around the corner of the house. He motions him over before disappearing once again.

Ozai is quick to follow, each step sounding overbearingly loud as his boots grind into the dry dirt. He rounds the corner, pausing as he sees Lee rummaging around in what looks to be some kind of storage shed that’s roughly the size of a large closet and attached to the back of the house. He emerges from the shed with an armful of long-neglected blankets and a fine layer of dust coating his mop of dark hair. He pushes the fabric into Ozai’s arms without warning, and he nearly drops them before he fumbles to catch the thin fabric and brace them against his chest. They reek of disuse and mold, his nose crinkling in distaste.

“What are you doing?” He asks the boy. Lee doesn’t face him, continuing to push things around in the shed.

“Preparing your room.” He says into a rusty bucket before he tosses it out. Ozai manages to catch it on his foot before it can clatter on the ground, glaring at the boy for his carelessness. Lee glances back and gives him an apologetic smile before he continues his work.

“It’s a shed.” Ozai deadpans, setting the bucket down and resting the blankets on top of it. He frowns down at the dust coating the front of his cloak and bits of his shirt, but the dust is really the least of his worries. The fight and fall hadn’t been easy on his clothes, leaving patches of it singed and riddled with holes and tears.

“You’d prefer a prison cell?” Lee quips, grabbing a moth bitten scrap of cloth and draping it across the clouded window high on the shed’s wall, “It’s the best I can do. It’s not as if we have a guest room.”

“Why did you offer to hide me if you had nowhere to put me?” Ozai asks, peering over Lee’s shoulder as he tugs out a cot and unrolls it, spreading it across the hard dirt floor of the shed. It doesn’t look to be in any better shape than the blankets, but he’s beginning to expect that.

“Where would you have gone if I hadn’t?” Lee kneels on the cot, folding the corners in to better adhere it against the shed walls. It’s not all that necessary, and Ozai can easily read that he’s just trying to find something to do with his hands.

“This city isn’t as impenetrable as you’d think.” Ozai answers, “There’s not a wall on the planet that is without weaknesses, and those weaknesses allow people like me to come in and out as we please.” Lee, satisfied with his work, spins around and faces him before he sits cross-legged on the end of the cot. The way he stares up at the elder makes it look like he’s expecting some kind of story, but Ozai doesn’t have anything to add. He doesn’t intend to tell Lee too much, or anything at all for that matter, about himself. The less he knows, the safer they both are.

“Sure.” Lee says, his tone almost smug in a way that makes Ozai quirk a brow, “If it’s so easy for you to just leave the city, why did you take my offer?” Ozai leans back against the house, crossing his arms over his chest and nudging the bucket with the tip of his boot.

“I never claimed it was easy, or fast, for that matter. I would need to get to the weak point to leave, and that will be much easier and safer if I’m not being actively pursued by the Dai Li.” A wind whips through the neighborhood, carrying the scent of tightly packed homes and everything that entailed, and it’s a sharp reminder of how surrounded by possible threats he is, “It would also be to my benefit if they didn’t discover that weakness. I doubt it would remain a weakness if they knew of it.” He’s trying to be as purposefully vague as possible, not wanting to give away the specifics of his escape. When Lee’s eyes narrow and his lips press together, Ozai wonders if he’s said too much.

“Why do you talk like that?” Lee asks, catching Ozai off guard. It wasn’t a question he expected in the slightest considering the information he’d just hinted at. He supposes it’s better than the boy probing for too much important information.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Lee waves his hands in an abstract gesture, seeming to be trying to elaborate.

“I mean the way you talk. It’s all…” He makes the same ridiculous gesture, “Flowery? You talk like a noble, but you don’t look like a noble. No offense.” Ozai can’t stop the bitter laugh that erupts from him at that. When he speaks, his lips stay pulled into a tight grin.

“Observant boy.” He says, choosing his words carefully, “I used to be part of a very respected family. You could call them nobles. That family is gone, but I was raised with this manner of speaking. It’s not something I have any interest in changing.” Even these half-truths feel like giving too much information and Ozai watches the boy nervously. Lee hadn’t reacted to the reveal of his true name, so it was probably safe to assume he knew little of Fire Nation history, but the possibility was still there that it would all click into place for him. After all, there were only so many Ozai’s born to noble Fire Nation families.

“What happened to your family?” Lee’s tone is softer, but his eyes are calculating. He’s trying to fit together the puzzle of Ozai’s past, but the pieces he’s giving him are practically blank. Ozai refuses to give him enough to make even one connection beyond any he’s already made.

“The Fire Nation fell, and so did they. Their worth was tied directly to the power of the nation.” His jaw tightens, his teeth grinding together as the instinctual flare of rage rises when he thinks of that night. Over a decade later, he can still smell the smoke when he wakes too suddenly.

“The Elemental Revolt.” Lee mumbles, more to himself than to his conversation partner. There are more blank pieces of the puzzle being given to him.

“So they do teach you something here.” Ozai replies, sighing and sliding down the wall until he’s sitting more comfortably, his elbows resting on his knees as he leans forward, “Yes. Many high-ranking families in the Fire Nation were destroyed during the Revolt. There’s not much left of what the nation used to be, really. All the power it used to have…gone in a single night.”

“The Fire Nation still has power.” Lee debates, scooting a little further out of the shed to better see Ozai now that he’s shifted, “They make a lot of produce. I think they’re the biggest supplier of most kinds of fruits in the entire world, what with all the volcanic soil—” Ozai laughs again, the tone of it bitter. His fists clench in front of him, and he has the urge to light something ablaze.

“Ah, yes, produce production. How could I be so blind?” He asks, tugging back his hood roughly and just barely avoiding banging his head on the wall. It’s much too hot under that hood when fury is boiling beneath his skin and raising his body temperature.

“Before the Revolt, the Fire Nation was the most powerful nation on the entire planet. We had the most advanced technology, the strongest military, the most supplies, and the best economy with the most valued dollar. We were feared and respected. My father was—” Ozai stops himself just before he can give away anything that incriminating, his head lowering as he continues sarcastically, “But being reduced to an overblown farm is fine, too, I suppose.”

“Your father?” Lee questions. Ozai’s eyes flicker away from him, focusing on the clothesline spanning from the house to the adjoining dwelling next door. He’d let his rage get too powerful, and it had clouded his common sense. He couldn’t have some Earth Kingdom peasant running around spreading the word that Fire Prince Ozai had survived the Revolt.

“My father was an inconsequential noblemen. Unimportant, in the grand scheme of things, but he served under the Fire Lord. So I know a lot about what the Nation used to be. How great it once was.” Ozai lies, his rage having chilled into a tired indifference, “As a firebender stuck in this city, you’re being deprived of the true greatness of your element and heritage. Firebending isn’t something that should have to be hidden as if it’s _shameful_.” Lee’s eyes light up before he schools his face into a more disinterested expression. His attempts at subtlety are laughable.

“I know. And it’s dangerous not to be trained.” Lee adds, “If only there was someone here who was a firebending master and could teach me about firebending and Fire Nation heritage.” He shrugs, the motion exaggerated enough that his shoulders pinch at ears. Ozai rolls his eyes, slumping back against the house.

“I’m tired. I think I’ll retire to my _room_ , boy.” Ozai deflects, pushing against the wall to stand. Lee is slower to stand, obviously sulking as he walks out of the shed and refrains from kicking the bucket over in his frustration.

"Fine. I’ll check up on you again after I get home from school.” He mumbles. Ozai pauses, looking back at him with a furrowed brow.

“And what am I supposed to do until then?” Lee huffs, his frustration still boiling close to the surface. It’s becoming increasingly obvious that his generosity is not entirely selfless.

“Just stay hidden. I’ll try to get you some new clothes tomorrow so you don’t stick out so much.” He says, hurriedly speaking as Ozai starts to argue, “I can’t do it any faster than that! I’m helping _you_ , remember that. If you don’t like it, I can just turn you over to the Dai Li tomorrow and probably make some money from it.” Silence sits between them, only the distant sounds of the neighborhood punctuating the thick air. It’s so quiet that Ozai thinks he might be able to hear Lee swallow nervously, his fingers coming up to sweep the hair out of his eyes only to have the locks fall right back into place.

“Are you threatening me, _boy_?” Ozai asks, stalking forward and looking down his nose at him. He truly dwarfs Lee, standing well over a head taller than him. Still, the boy doesn’t back down from him, puffing out his own chest and pushing his shoulders back.

“I have a name. It’s _Lee_.” He answers, his words gaining strength as he speaks, “And maybe I am. I’m trying to help you and you’re being very difficult. So…yes, I am threatening you.” In all his years, Ozai isn’t sure he’s ever spoken to an adolescent so bold. The familiar burn of anger bites at the back of his mind, but it’s overtaken by something else entirely. The elder’s stern scowl breaks and a grin tugs at his lips before a short chuckle leaves him. He plants his palm on the crown of Lee’s head and pushes him back as he would for some teething cub pestering him.

“Very well, I can respect that.” He says, scooping up the blankets on his way back to the shed, “Don’t think I’ll allow that again, though. Threaten me again, and you will feel the consequences for such disrespect.” A small flame flickers over Ozai’s opposite hand from the one grasping the blankets, and he turns his head to say over his shoulder.

“This house does look rather flammable, after all.” He sees Lee nod in his peripheral and tosses the blankets to the ground, extinguishing the fire. When he grabs the door, he locks eyes with the young man.

“I will stay out of sight. You have my word.” He doesn’t wait for Lee’s answer before he shuts the creaking door.

* * *

It takes all of Lee’s strength not to creep out to the shed during breakfast, but he knows such an action would only raise suspicion amongst his sister and mother. He’d never had any reason to go into that dilapidated mess unless Noriko asked him to, and any interest in it now would stand out. It certainly doesn’t help that the shed’s entrance is in direct view of the window above the sink where his mother is washing the morning’s dishes and cookware. Every time she looks out the window, Lee finds his entire body tensing.

“ _Hello?_ ” Jia’s fist connects with his shoulder and he nearly falls out of his chair. Her soft punch hadn’t really been that powerful, but with every muscle in his body tensed, it was enough to knock him off balance.

“What is wrong with you? You’ve been weird all morning.” She asks, her knife scrapping across the apple in her hands to dig out the rotten patch in its side, “What’s eating you?” As if to illustrate her words, she swiftly cuts a chunk from the apple and stabs it with the end of the blade before popping it into her mouth.

“Who, me?” Lee asks, poking at his own untouched apple, “Nothing. I’m just tired.” Jia’s eyes sparkle with mischief, another chunk of apple coming free with a swipe of her knife. Lee feels a cold sweat gather on his skin and he’s already trying to stumble out of his chair as she opens her mouth. Noriko pauses in her dish washing to look at the two of them inquisitively.

“I’d be tired too if I was up all night—” Lee stammers, trying to come up with a convincing enough lie to interrupt her with, “Studying.” She finishes, leaving Lee dumbfounded. He gapes like a particularly inarticulate fish, staring down at her. She had always enjoyed getting him in trouble with their mother, considering the leeway it granted her in her own troublemaking, but when she was actively covering for him he was even more concerned. She wanted something from him.

“Studying? Do you have something important happening at school?” Noriko asks.

“Uh. Yes, a test. I was studying for a test.” He says, his eyes never leaving Jia for too long as she continues working on her apple with a little too much focus.

“I’m glad to see you’re taking your studies seriously, but don’t sacrifice your rest for it, Lee. That won’t help you at all.” She finishes the dishes, setting the last one aside to dry before wiping her hands on the front of her apron, “Good luck on your test. Make me proud.” Lee nods, granting her a quick smile.

“I will. Speaking of which, Jia and I should get going. Don’t want to be late for that _test_.” Lee grits out, looking pointedly down at her. She looks up at him and tilts her chair back as she presses the heels of her shoes into the edge of the table. She’s the picture of calculated leisure.

“ _I_ don’t have a test. I’ve got plenty of time.” He growls at her smug indifference, bending down to pick up his bag and pausing on the way down. He pretends to struggle with untangling the strap from the legs of his chair.

“We need to talk.” He whispers harshly. She doesn’t verbally acknowledge him, but the tiny nod of her head is enough to reassure him that she understands. He stands up straight, pulling the strap of his bag over his shoulder and crossing the room.

“I’ll see you later, Mom. I’ll pick up some bread for dinner on the way home.” Before she can answer, he amends his sentence, “ _Legally_. I swept the baker’s shop the other day. He owes me.” She seems satisfied, looking him up and down before she slicks back his hair and kisses his forehead.

“Alright, alright. I trust you.” She hums against his skin. Lee smiles, something akin to guilt twisting in his gut before he nods and reaffirms her. He pushes open the back door, forcing himself to avert his gaze from the shed as he passes by. Still, he isn’t sure if it’s his imagination or not, but he suspects that there’s a new heat radiating from the shed that wasn’t there before.

* * *

The day didn’t go as well as Lee had hoped. Occurrence after occurrence happened to distract him from returning to the shed until long after the sun had set. It almost seemed as if the world was intentionally keeping him busy, and he had the paranoid suspicion that Noriko was onto him by the way she was stubbornly staying in the kitchen for one reason or another. She didn’t seem to be looking out the window any more than she normally did, but Lee couldn’t help but wonder. Jia certainly wasn’t helping either, tactfully always finding something to prevent them from having any time alone together so he could ask exactly what it was that she wanted from him. It was a classic trick of hers, letting him stew in his thoughts and overthink so when she did speak with him he’d already be flustered, but just because he knew she was doing it didn’t mean he didn’t fall for it every single time.

It’s only when Noriko finishes her meticulous scrubbing of the counters and retires to her room for the night that he dares to sneak out of the back door with the bag of clothes hitched over his shoulder. It’s not entirely quiet, the houses crowded around them still buzzing with nighttime activities, but the lack of windows in many of them serves to his benefit.

“What happened to ‘checking up’ on me right after school?” Ozai’s voice startles Lee enough that he nearly drops the bag, spinning to face the man. He’s standing in the doorway of the shed, his shoulder braced against its frame and his arms held across his chest. That tattered hood is pulled down over his face again, so he can’t make out much of his expression, but his tone is enough to tell Lee that he’s not pleased.

“There were some complications.” He answers with a frown, “Mom wouldn’t leave the kitchen, which is _right there_ , and Jia is up to something, and it’s really—” Ozai holds up a hand, halting him.

“I don’t care. Do you have the clothes?” Lee blinks, looking down at the bag and recalling what he’d brought.

“Oh! Yes, I do.” He slides the bag off of his shoulder, holding it out to him, “And you better appreciate them. I went through a _lot_ of trouble to get them.” Lee murmurs, rubbing his neck. He hated stealing things that weren’t for his family’s benefit, but, in some obscure way, this would benefit him. Still, Lee couldn’t quite justify stealing clothes the same way he could food or money.

“I never did like green.” Ozai grumbles, rooting around in the bag before disappearing back into the shed and shutting the door behind himself. There’s the rustling of shifting fabric, assuring Lee that despite his complaints, he was at least going to accept the offer.

“The Dai Li are crawling all over this place, thanks to you.” Lee says to the door. Ozai makes a noise between a grunt and a hum, which is cut short when he bangs some part of his body on one of the shelves lining the shed walls.

“Are you waiting for an apology?” Ozai asks, the sound of jangling metal accompanying his words.

“An explanation. I still want to know what you did that made the Dai Li so persistent on finding you. I don’t think they’d be this adamant about capturing you if you were just firebending in front of people.” Another bang, followed by the startling sound of splitting wood. Lee cringes, already trying to think of ways to explain the shattered shelf to his mother.

“Firebending in a city where doing so is illegal isn’t enough for you?” Ozai’s voice wavers just enough for Lee to pause. He was lying which, in itself, wasn’t something rare for the man to do, but why he would lie is a question that nags at him.

“It would be, if you weren’t lying.” Lee says. He doesn’t get a response for several long minutes, his eyes nervously flicking over to the back door and window for any signs of life.

“My business with the Dai Li is none of yours.” He states, emerging from the shed as his hands scoop the long swath of hair from beneath the collar of his shirt and toss it across his shoulders. The dull greens and browns of his modest clothes have the intended effect, the colors seeming to make him look like an entirely different man. If it weren’t for the glaringly gold rings of his eyes, he would pass fairly well as just another Earth Kingdom commoner.

“Yeah, I get it.” Lee huffs, nodding in approval as he finishes his appraisal, “That’s better. You should fit in now.” Ozai looks doubtful, his fingers worrying at his collar as if he’s searching for the safety of his hood. He looks back into the shed at the tattered and dirt encrusted fabric of his cloak before thinking twice and picking it up.

“Good. Then I can leave.” He folds the cloak carefully before draping it over his arm, “Your service was appreciated.” And then he’s leaving without a glance backwards. Lee doesn’t consider his volume when he calls out to him.

“ _Wait!_ You can’t leave yet!” He says, scrambling for an excuse to detain him, “Like I said, the Dai Li are everywhere. We need to wait at least a few days before we leave. What if one of them catches on to you?” Ozai’s breath leaves him in a harsh rush, but he doesn’t turn to face Lee.

“ _We_?” Lee blinks, a nervous laugh bubbling up without his permission.

“I didn’t mean…you. Before _you_ leave.” Ozai does turn around this time. There’s no anger there, just an annoyed disposition that makes the corners of his mouth pull down slightly, but the silence that floats between them is a loaded one nonetheless.

“This is still about teaching you firebending, isn’t it?” Lee tries to deny it, but Ozai doesn’t give him the chance, stalking forward as he speaks, “Listen to me, because I will not repeat myself, and I want to make this very clear. Even if I was inclined to waste my time tutoring you in the basics of firebending, which I am _not_ , I don’t have the option to.”

“What do you mean?” Lee asks, once again refusing to back away from Ozai despite his towering form looming over him. He can feel the heat rolling off of Ozai in waves and it only encourages him to try harder. All that power and knowledge was so _close_. Providing for and protecting his family was that _close_.

“My time isn’t my own. I’ve already wasted an entire day sitting in a shed waiting for you to get these clothes for me, and now you want me to waste even more time on _you_? Why? Why would I ever be so stupid?” Ozai purrs, his teeth coming together audibly when he finishes asking his question, “Because you had enough kindness in your heart to shelter some stranger you picked up off the street? We both know you didn’t take me in because of kindness, _Lee_.” He finally says his name, but the tone in which it’s said makes a petrified shiver run through him.

“You were just using me to get away from the Dai Li.” Lee growls. Ozai’s bared teeth turn up into a wide grin, his head tilting slightly. It’s an obvious taunt.

“Obviously. But really, you were attempting to do the same to me, weren’t you? You were trying to use me for my knowledge on firebending. The only difference between our plans is that mine worked.” He abruptly turns away from Lee, hopping the small fence and continuing on his way.

“You want a tip? I’ll give you one for free before I go. If you want to use someone, have some kind of incentive to hold over them. Maybe then you’ll actually get—” Ozai’s words are cut short when a blast of flame licks up his back and singes the ends of his hair. He manages to redirect most of it before it can burn a hole through his clothes, dispersing the weak flames with a flick of his wrist. Lee’s fists quake at his sides, fire burning beneath his skin and delicate wisps of smoke hissing through his teeth.

“ _No!_ You are my only chance at learning firebending!” He shouts, jabbing a finger in the direction of Ozai’s back, “If you leave without me, I’m telling the Dai Li exactly where you went. Your clothes will only get you so far, you know. There’s not a whole lot of people in the Lower Ring that look like you.” He barely has time to get his last words out before Ozai is leaping over the tiny fence on a burst of flames and barreling towards him.

“You want a lesson? _Fine!_ ” He snarls. His fists find the front of Lee’s tunic and throw him across the dirt, drawing a pained hiss from the boy as he connects with the wall of his house, “Lesson number one. Never pick fights you can’t win.” Ozai moves his body like a finely tuned machine, lifting a leg in a graceful arch before he slams it down onto the ground in a hail of blistering flame. Lee just barely avoids being broiled by it, scrambling from the ground and jumping out of the fire’s reach. Ozai follows it up with another kick, which Lee ducks under at the last minute. The tips of his hair sizzle, the scent of burnt hair intruding on his nose.

"I told you I wouldn't tolerate threats twice." Ozai growls. He's far from finished, the barrage of fire continuing with every word. Each blast gets a little closer to catching Lee, the experienced firebender quickly learning the pattern of his dodges, but Lee is learning his patterns as well. He seems to be following a pattern in his bending, the kicks and punches of fire being interspersed in pairs.

_Punch_.

Lee dodges once again, but the fire catches his arm and he clutches at the burned skin. He staggers backwards and collides with the wall of the shed.

_Punch._

Another fireball comes roaring at him, this one connecting impotently with the wall of the shed when Lee ducks to sit on the ground.

_Kick_.

Rolling forward and out of the way of the oncoming flaming kick, he finds himself only inches from his opponent. Ozai is furious; a fine sheen of sweat on his brow that glistens in the light of his self generated fire.

_Kick_.

There’s no way to dodge this. He’s too close, almost too close for Ozai to properly complete the kick, so he thanks his own quick thinking when he finds his feet moving without his conscious command. Lee’s heels jut forward; throwing all the momentum his body can muster into a two-footed kick directly into the singular leg holding Ozai up. It has the desired effect, the kick forcing Ozai’s foot to slide out from beneath him and sending him crashing to the ground in a plume of dust and ash, the flames surrounding his foot flickering out as his grounding is lost. Lee is struck dumb for several moments before he stumbles over himself to climb on top of Ozai, bracing one knee against each of his shoulders and pinning his elbows down with the toes of his boots. His hand closes around the front of Ozai’s throat, and he leans his weight into it.

“Lesson number one, huh? For you or me?” Lee asks smugly. Ozai glares daggers up at him and he can feel the muscles in the man’s arms tensing against his legs. Lee responds by leaning back, shifting his weight from Ozai’s throat to his arms. It effectively allows him to speak while further restraining him.

“Lesson number two.” Lee’s brows arch at Ozai’s words, “Don’t ruin your victories with foolish jokes.” A victorious grin breaks out across Lee’s face.

“So we have a deal?” He asks the firebender. Ozai sighs, his head making a solid _thunk_ as it connects with the hard packed dirt.

“Get off of me, and we do. It seems I don’t have much choice in the matter.” Lee is quick to do so, practically bouncing on his toes as he watches Ozai climb onto his feet. Adrenaline pumps through him from the fight, and the fire in his core responds in turn. Every lantern nearby seems to bend towards him, calling to him.

“So.” Ozai says, brushing the dust from his clothes, “All I have to do is make you competent in firebending and you’ll allow me to leave without alerting the Dai Li.” Lee nods, starting to come down from the little high of the fight as he takes several deep breaths.

“Yes. I’ll keep my word if you keep yours.” Lee offers his hand, looking up at him expectantly. A muscle in Ozai’s jaw flexes, his eyes narrowing in distaste. Still, he takes Lee’s hand and shakes it once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, great response! I love reading your reviews/comments, keep them coming! They're absolutely an inspiration to me. 
> 
> Sorry about how long this chapter took, I had to work out a lot of plot things that weren't quite working together like I wanted them to.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Firebending practice.

Maybe Ozai isn’t as young as he used to be. _Perhaps_ a child—a novice, at that—had bested him when he was sleep deprived and borderline starving. It didn’t mean anything, though, he reaffirms as he rubs the soreness out of his muscles. He can still feel where Lee’s knees had bitten into his shoulders, the joints being sensitive due to being dislocated a few too many times. This meant absolutely nothing. He wasn’t losing his edge because he couldn’t afford to. He lived and died on his ability to fight.

He recalls a different life, when he’d never even known the feeling of real hunger or the sore muscles that came with sleeping on the floor of a shed. If that Ozai could see him now, he’d scoff. He’d possibly execute him just to put him out of his misery. _A Prince of the Fire Nation living like a criminal and a peasant. Disgraceful._ And though he feels like he’s still that same man, he also feels entirely estranged from him. Fifteen years of having to live on his own wit, strength and intuition had reshaped him, grinding down some edges and sharpening others. If he could ever be a Prince again, would he be able to? Could he ever go back?

Ozai decides that’s a question he doesn’t want to answer. There was no going back, anyway. The Fire Nation Palace had been burned to the ground, and only sections of scorched walls stood where a once proud monument to the Fire Nation monarchy had once proudly been on display. The royal gardens had effectively become a pseudo forest, and the nation had moved on. So should he.

There’s a light inside of the hovel of a house, and a feminine silhouette is painted across the far wall that he can view through the window in the kitchen. It serves to break him out of his own thoughts.

“Lee? Are you out there?” Ozai’s blood seems to stop moving, that voice triggering something in him that he can’t name. He can feel Lee’s hands on his arm, trying to do something—push, pull; he’s not entirely sure. He’s heard it before, yet he can’t quite pin down _where_. It was definitely a part of that life that was no longer his, but the exact face that the voice belonged to was escaping him.

“ _Ozai_.” Zuko hisses, finally drawing his attention, “Hide! Don’t let her see you!” Ozai is suddenly in control of his body again and he follows the direction that Lee is pushing him. He finds himself behind the shed, his back pressing to the cheap material.

“Lee?” There’s the sound of the back door opening. He can see her shadow on the ground now, the gentle curves of her figure elongated on the dirt.

 “Oh, uh, hey, Mom.” Lee says, his words stilted. He leans against the shed, crossing his arms over his chest in a painfully obvious show of nonchalance. Ozai practically cringes as he continues speaking.

“I was just uh…I was…” His eyes flick over to Ozai, searching for something. Ozai looks around as well before spotting his cloak lying forgotten on the ground, scooping it up and handing it to him. Lee is visibly confused for a moment before it clicks.

“I was…getting another blanket?” Lee says it as if it’s a question and Ozai has to refrain from audibly groaning. As well as tutoring him in firebending, he’s going to teach the boy how to be a competent liar.

“Oh.” She says softly, her form drawing nearer, “I thought I brought all the good blankets inside last week.” Lee shrugs a little too forcefully.

“You missed one.” A loaded silence follows before he sees her shadow twist on the ground, indicating her shifting to look at something else.

“What were those noises about?” Their fight hadn’t been as silent as he would have liked, true, and it was probably Ozai’s decision to throw Zuko into the side of his own house that had drawn his mother’s attention. Lee looks at him again as if he’s searching for an answer, but Ozai has nothing to offer this time. The boy scratches at his forehead, a slow breath leaving him.

“I tripped.” Ozai drops his head back against the shed in frustration. The best he could come up with was ‘ _I tripped’?_

“What was that?” Ozai swallows heavily as her voice rises in alarm. Lee gives him a sideways glare before he jolts forward, pausing his mother in her steps closer to the shed and, consequently, him.

“Pests! Spider-Rats. It’s probably a good thing that we took all the good blankets out.” Ozai doesn’t dare to breathe, his lungs starting to burn as the moments stretch on.

“What are you doing, Lee?” She asks. He trips over his words, forcefully keeping his eyes from wandering back to Ozai.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, mom.” He answers shortly, their shadows separating as she quickly walks around him in an attempt to see around the shed. He can practically feel her body heat and sees the tip of her nose as well as the rise of her chest before Lee grabs her wrist and pulls her back.

“There’s nothing going on! You should go back inside while I take care of the Spider-Rats.” She spins around fast enough for the very tips of her hair to whip around the edge of the shed and flick across Ozai’s cheek. He feels his heart jump into his throat, and realizes he still hasn’t taken a proper breath. He’s going to end up passing out if he doesn’t start breathing.

“You’ve never been able to lie to me before, Lee. What makes you think you can now?” Ozai thinks he might be dragging the face for this voice from his memories, but the one he’s repeatedly drawing makes no sense. Warm, honey eyes that looked at him with fear more often than love, and rounded cheeks that came down to a pointed chin. A delicate upturned nose and hair so thick and soft he’d often found himself idly stroking it when he’d wake. He throws out the image because he can’t fathom it being true. Out of all the women in all the cities in the world, there was no possible way for him to have run into _her_ of all people. It’s preposterous and statistically impossible. _Improbable,_ he amends, but that doesn’t make him any more willing to accept the idea.

“Mom—wait!” When Ozai lands silently on the other side of the short fence separating Lee’s dwelling from those neighboring it, he finally takes a shallow breath that clears the dazzling spots in his vision. He sees Lee’s mother peek around the edge of the shed, but with the light behind her he can’t make out any of her features. Her hair is down, shrouding her face in shadow. He has to resist the urge to spit fire in frustration. He needs some kind of proof that this _isn’t_ the woman he’s starting to believe her to be and without a proper look at her face, he doesn’t have that.

“Oh.” She mutters, turning to look at Zuko and, as if by the fates design, the corner of the shed obscures her face but lets him catch more details of her hair. It’s dark brown and thick, like he remembers it, but now there’s tiny gray hairs dispersed throughout her mane. _It proves nothing_ , he rationalizes. Plenty of women have thick brown hair.

“See?” Lee says, leaning around to look behind the shed as well, “You could’ve startled a Spider-Rat.” The boy is searching for Ozai with panicked eyes, and the man considers letting him squirm by staying hidden. He takes pity on him and brushes the tips of his fingers over the top of the fence. Lee takes stock of him before turning to focus back on his mother.

“ _His mother_.” Ozai mouths silently, tuning out the banal conversation about Spider-Rats that Lee emphatically starts. If, by some horrific coincidence, she is who he thinks she is, that would make Lee—

_“No._ ” His words are barely verbal this time, coming out in a harsh whisper. He refuses that thought more vehemently than the idea that he’d run into _her_ again after all these years. The possibility of that awkward, stubborn boy being what he suspects is so ridiculous that it nearly draws a laugh from the man. The laugh dies on his lips as the cogs in his brain turn without his permission.

His gold eyes are practically the same shade as his own, and his mop of black hair, while unkempt, resembles that toddler’s hair that was impossible to tame on the best of days. His skin is the same pale complexion, and his high cheekbones that had yet to become as prominent as his father’s due to his youth marked his heritage. Yet, despite all the evidence, Ozai shuts down that train of thought as well to prevent any further connections being made.

This wasn’t possible. Ozai wouldn’t _allow_ it to be possible.

“Lee…” He catches the woman’s voice, and he can practically hear the alternative in his head. _Zuko_ … “Come inside. We’ll have some tea and then you can get to bed. You look exhausted.” She continues, cooing in that motherly tone that he recognizes. Still, he staunchly refuses to connect that face, name and voice. Lee argues halfheartedly, and by the way he sees his shoulders slump, he can tell that the boy is indeed exhausted.

“You can battle the Spider-Rats tomorrow.” The backdoor creaks as the pair walk to the threshold. Lee walks inside first, and when the door closes behind his mother, Ozai’s pretends the flash of amber that the lantern catches in her eyes is a trick of the light.

* * *

 

Lee is certainly stubborn.

Ozai’s still not sure if that’s a good thing or not, his index fingers finding his temples and attempting to rub away the migraine pounding behind his eyes. He’s been attempting to make good on his promise to train Lee in firebending, but with every failed form both of them only grow more frustrated. Ozai’s anger grows exponentially faster. He’s exhausted, hungry and still paranoid about the identity of Lee’s mother. The last thing he wants to do is teach, but the boy is persistent in his pestering. He considers just killing him and making a run for it, but even that requires more energy than he has to spare.

“Will you just—” Ozai grunts out, slumping back against the rickety wall, “It’s not hard, I don’t understand why you’re having such a problem with it.” A fine layer of dust and thin debris hails from the abandoned warehouse’s deteriorating ceiling as Lee throws a frustrated punch at the wall. Ozai waves his hand over his head, creating a short burst of flames over him that burns away any grime that might have been attempting to land on him. Lee sends him a sideways glare at the display, his own shoulders and the top of his head gaining a dingy gray coating.

“I don’t _know_! I do it all the time without meaning to, why can’t I do it now?” He exclaims, shaking out the hand that had struck the wall before he tangles it in the dirty mop of his hair. With the hair pulled away from his face, Ozai thinks he might be able to see just the hint of a scar that disappears beneath his hairline now that he’s looking for it. His stomach drops, the mantra of _it’s just a scar_ starting up in the back of his throbbing mind.

“What is your mother’s name?” Ozai asks, derailing Lee’s current tirade. The boy stops dead in his tracks, his animated arms dropping to his side like dead weight.

“Why?” He asks, instantly suspicious.

“No reason. Just answer the question.” Ozai responds, trying to force a casual air to his posture. He can feel himself failing miserably, his shoulders held taught like a drawn bow.

“My mom is none of your business.” Lee bites out, “If you try something, I swear I’ll make you regret it.” When he jabs a finger at Ozai, a small trail of flickering fire follows his hand and a wisp of smoke curls from between his clenched teeth. It’s the most firebending he’s seen him do all night. Ozai has to keep the smirk from his lips as a plan starts to formulate. There’s no reason he can’t kill two birds with one stone and both find out more about Lee’s mother as well as teach him something about firebending.

“I’m not allowed to have interest?” He asks, propping his cheek on his fist innocently, “That doesn’t seem fair. She’s a grown woman, shouldn’t she be allowed to decide which male attention she responds to?” That sparks something in Lee, flames kicking back from his hands as he fans them out. He barely seems to be registering what he’s doing, but Ozai doesn’t miss the action.

“ _No_ , you’re not! She’s gotten enough _interest_ from men like you.” He growls, standing close enough that Ozai can feel the wave of heat that surges from him.

“Has she now? She’s popular with these peasants?” Ozai keeps his expression impassive, only one brow rising with the question. Lee, on the other hand, is seething, his voice practically dripping with venom. It’s exactly how Ozai wants him.

“Not by choice! She does what she has to do, if you really _need_ to know. But I’m going to put a stop to that once I can firebend. No one is ever going to lay a hand on her again, certainly not _you_.” He jabs a scorching finger into the center of Ozai’s chest. The elder firebender blinks in surprise, taking in the new information piece by piece. It seemed he was quite literally the son of a whore. That helps ease his fears. Ursa would never stoop so low, she was far too proud.

“I’m not sure what you think learning firebending will do if your mother is so intent on being a whore—” Ozai dodges the flaming fist thrown at him, ducking low before he grabs Lee’s opposite arm and pins it against his back. He shoves the enraged bender into the abused wall, pinning him there with his weight pressed into Lee’s back and the leverage of his twisted arm.

“Maybe she’s not as indifferent to spreading her legs as you think.” Ozai hisses into his ear. He struggles to keep his hold on Lee’s arm as his skin heats to intense levels, Ozai’s fingers clamped on his skin starting to protest at the heat.

“ _You_ —” Lee starts but is interrupted by a powerful plume of fire that leaves his lips with his next harsh breath, hitting the wall and burning straight through it. Both of them stare out of the new hole, the night sky visible to them now.

“What was _that_?” Lee asks, his anger having temporarily been distracted by his new discovery. Ozai releases his arm, rubbing the heat out of his own hands.

“Breath of Fire.” He answers, “Which is usually an advanced technique.” This wasn’t what he had been expecting when he’d pushed Lee. He’d anticipated a rudimentary fire blast, perhaps, but not forms that usually required either intense training and control or inherent power as a firebender. It was true that the fire had been unfocused and sloppy, but the fact that he could do it without intending to was something that piqued Ozai’s interest. Perhaps he was more than he seemed.

“Breath of Fire.” Lee repeats, breathing deeply through his nose, “Can you do that?” He asks, noting Ozai’s concerned face.

“Of course I can! This just…was not what I was expecting from you.” Ozai grits his teeth as he speaks, “Your father must have been a powerful firebender for you to be able to do that without training.” Lee’s eyes look at anyone but the man in front of him, the mood of the room taking a steep dive.

“I guess. I never knew him, but mom says he was a great firebender before he died in the war.” Lee’s reverence suddenly breaks as he looks back to Ozai, “And _speaking_ of my mom, you—” Ozai snorts, shaking his head and holding up his hands in a show of peace.

“Enough. I have no interest in your mother.”

“But you…”

“I was training you. Firebending is as fueled by rage as it is by the sun, and we were severely lacking both. You needed motivation.” Lee blinks, trying to find an argument. With the results they had gotten, though, he couldn’t say Ozai had been wrong.

“Fine. Just leave my mom out of it next time, okay? Leave my family out of it.” Ozai shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest with an unimpressed glare.

“I’m not making any promises. If you want proper training, I will do what I need to do to make that happen.” There’s a short stand off where the two of them don’t do anything beyond stare down each other. Lee is the first to break with an annoyed huff that carries a tiny flicker of light on it, his eyes training themselves on some random junk in the distance.

“Okay. I understand.” And with that, Ozai decides they’ve trained enough for the day. He wonders what kind of mental illness has befallen him when he looks forward to passing out on the floor of a shed.

* * *

Jia is waiting for him when they return from practice, giving him pause as he approaches the front door. He can just barely make out Ozai’s form rounding the back of the house and disappearing behind it. The creak of the shed’s door opening and closing is so subtle that he hopes Jia misses it or writes it off as a neighbor’s noise.

“I think—” She stands, dusting herself off, “I remember you saying we needed to have a talk.” He has to refrain from audibly releasing a relieved breath that she doesn’t seem to be onto Ozai.

“And you’ve been avoiding me ever since.” He replies, shoving his hands in his pockets. He feels unnecessarily anxious, as if the fire is about to burst out of his skin without his permission. Jia isn’t helping with the way she puts him on edge, her sharp eyes dissecting him.

“Why do you take everything so personally? I was busy. Nothing suspicious about that.” She stops less than a foot from him, her hand tangling in the fabric of his shirt and tugging him forward. Her nose crinkles as she takes in a breath and Lee isn’t entirely sure his heart is still beating.

“What _is_ suspicious is that you smell like smoke.” She continues and releases him, “Why?”

“I was…smoking.” He lies. It’s a painfully obvious lie, even to his own ears.

“You’ve been going out and firebending.” She accuses and Lee is speaking before he can think through a coherent defense.

“Firebending? Why would I even—do you hear yourself? That’s ridiculous!” He sputters indignantly. She’s not convinced, her arms crossing over her chest. For some strange reason, it reminds him of Ozai. She even has the same unimpressed glare.

“I want you to take me with you.”

“What?” He asks, panic already starting to gnaw at him. This was a complication he couldn’t deal with right now.

“I want to go with you when you practice firebending. If you’re allowed to bend, then so am I.” She uncrosses her arms and holds out her palm, a tiny flame flickering over it and lighting the space between them, “You think you’re the only one who’s tired of hiding it?” Lee is quick to close her hand and extinguish the flame, looking around the neighboring area to be sure no one had seen the display.

“Jia, it’s not that simple…” He starts, but she’s quick to cut him off.

“It is that simple. Either you take me, or I tell mom about your little nightly adventures, and good luck sneaking out of the house then. Mom won’t let you out of her sight.” She says snidely and he suddenly has an acute understanding of Ozai’s frustration at being essentially blackmailed. A frustrated breath leaves Lee as he turns away from his sister and thinks, his fingers tangling in his hair.

Ozai hadn’t agreed to teach both of them—he’d barely agreed to teach _one_ of them—but was he in any position to say no? If he refused he could always threaten to tell the Dai Li again, but he wasn’t sure that threat could hold its potency forever. If Ozai stopped caring about the risk of them discovering his escape route, he could most likely outrun them as he’d done before. On the other hand, if he refused Jia and she told their mother, he wouldn’t be able to so much as step foot outside of the house without her watchful eye. He’d heard enough concerned speeches about how dangerous firebending was, how it needed to be hidden, to know she wouldn’t accept him trying to become a better firebender. She couldn’t understand his desire to know that part of himself.

“So?” She asks. He turns to look at her, and there’s actual hope in her eyes. She wants this, and he can understand her. He can’t say that if he were in her position he wouldn’t do the exact same thing. Keeping their respective fires buried was doing neither of them any favors. Even if she wasn’t threatening him, he can’t turn her down now.

“Okay. You can come next time I go out, but you need to promise that mom won’t hear about it.” She grins at his words, nodding.

“As long as I’m allowed to go with you, she won’t find out. I’m better at keeping secrets than you are anyway.” Lee snorts, pushing open the front door quietly and stepping inside with her.

“Don’t push it.” She walks past him, a little spring in her step as she does so. He can’t help but smile.

“That’s just the truth. You’re a horrible liar.” With his _smoking_ excuse, he can’t disagree. He pushes past her into their bedroom.

“I’m going to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely enjoy writing Ozai when he's being a shit. Which is always. He's always being a shit. 
> 
> Reviews + Comments yknow.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discoveries.

“ _Absolutely not._ ”

Ozai reacts just about as well to Lee’s news as he expected. He stops in his tracks, refusing to follow Lee any further through the winding streets of the Lower Ring.

“I don’t like it either, but I don’t have a lot of other options.” Lee huffs, shoving his hands in his pockets. The air has already started to take on the bite of winter, brisk air howling through the narrow streets and chilling his hands.

“I don’t care. I’m not teaching your sister. That was not part of the arrangement.” He protests, grappling with the mass of his hair as it whips into his face with the next burst of wind.

“Well, I’m changing the arrangement. Besides, Jia is a natural. It won’t be very hard to teach her.” He says with just a hint of bitterness. He won’t admit that he’s jealous of his younger sister’s inherent talent and control of her bending, but he does acknowledge the unfairness of it all. Ozai isn’t convinced, his scowl stalwartly remaining on his lips.

“She could be a dragon and I wouldn’t care to meet her, let alone teach her.” Lee continues walking despite Ozai’s refusal to move, “Where are we going, anyway? The warehouse isn’t anywhere near here.” He hears Ozai’s hesitant footfalls and feels the heat radiating from him as he approaches. The man is like a walking furnace and his body heat alone cuts through the chill in the air.

“I figured you might need to eat at some point.” Lee shrugs, looking up at the man walking by his side. The dark circles under his eyes and the slight concaveness of his cheeks attests to several days without food.

“I can survive. You can’t bribe me with food.” He says stiffly, but his words are just a little too hesitant for Lee to take seriously.

“I can try.” Lee responds, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He can make out the warm glow emanating from the tiny establishment sandwiched between two larger buildings. A weather beaten hand painted sign bangs against the face of the building, declaring the name of the building. There’s a group of men sitting on the front steps and tossing dog-eared cards at one another while shouting jovially about some matter. It’s a homey little place, familiar to Lee, but when he looks to see what Ozai thinks of it, he sees the distaste painted clearly on his face.

“Their food is good. Trust me.” He practically drags Ozai inside, glaring back at him as he literally drags his feet.

“Possibly, but how many diseases will I catch from it?” He asks loudly enough that several of the restaurant’s patrons turn their heads. Lee rams an elbow into his side before gesturing to one of the few empty tables and taking a seat.

“For someone who talks like you do, you don’t have a lot of manners.” Lee grumbles, watching Ozai settle into the seat across from him smoothly. He moves in the same regal, stuffy way that he speaks, but he is still, somehow, unforgivably rude. 

“And I suppose you’re an authority on manners?” He asks as his eyes drift down to Lee’s elbows resting on the table. Ozai, in contrast, is sitting ramrod straight in his chair with his hands resting in his lap. He’s entirely out of place among the relaxed postures of the customers around him. Lee doesn’t mention it.

“I didn’t bring you here to talk about manners.”

“No, you brought me here to bribe me.” Ozai says smugly and Lee grits his teeth, not even bothering to smile as the waitress approaches them, “I won’t be having anythi—”

“Jasmine tea for the both of us, thanks.” Lee interrupts, keeping his challenging gaze locked on Ozai, “And you can get us my usual order for the meal.” The waitress doesn’t seem to care much about the squabble between the two men, so she simply scribbles down the order and trots off as they glare each other down.

“This is stupidly dangerous. I could be recognized. The Dai Li could show up here.” Ozai mutters under his breath. Lee doesn’t miss the way he tactfully tilts his head down to toss his hair into his face as a makeshift cloak.

“This place isn’t on their maps.” He responds over the clink of the settling chipped teacups. The waitress pours their tea and swiftly leaves again.

“Interesting.” He says and lifts a hand, but it stops short of the cup. His eyes flicker up to study Lee.

“Just drink the tea. You’re no good to anyone if you die of thirst.” Ozai is slow to actually lift the cup to his lips, but once it’s there, he downs it in one swift movement and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. An awkward silence follows, his fingers idly toying with the rim of the empty cup. The tapping of his blunt nails on the porcelain is the only sound between them until the waitress unceremoniously drops the plates of food in front of them after an amount of time that can’t be as long as it feels. It’s a mixture of some kind of thick, doughy noodles and strips of beef all slathered in a glistening, aromatic sauce. Lee nearly laughs at the way Ozai’s jaw drops a little. He quickly composes himself when he notices Lee looking, shoving his hands back onto his lap.

“Look, the food is obligation free. By eating it you aren’t agreeing to teach Jia. I’m trying to be _nice_.” Lee grits out, spearing a piece of beef and wrapping it in the noodle, “People can just be nice without some kind of other motive.” Ozai’s hands don’t move from his lap, and that ever-present scowl returns in full force.

“I believe that’s called naivety. Altruism is a dream, and a ludicrous one at that.” Lee’s chopstick scrapes the plate as he jams it into a noodle a little too roughly, his knuckles going white, “And it’s very obvious why you’re doing this. I mean nothing to you beyond what I can offer as a firebender, which, though I respect, it doesn’t mean I’m blind to the situation. This food is a painfully obvious attempt to win my favor and convince me it was of my own volition that I took your sister on as a student.” Lee gives him an annoyed glance before he returns his attention to the food on his plate.

“That was a nice speech, but you’re still going to die eventually if you don’t eat.” Lee pops the noodles and meat into his mouth, making a show of chewing, “ _Mmm_. It’s really very good. Shame you won’t try it.” Ozai visibly swallows. Lee grins somewhat mean spiritedly around his mouthful of food.

“This won’t change my mind.” Ozai says venomously as his fingers curl around his own chopsticks.

“Sure.” Lee doesn’t even get the syllable out before Ozai is starting to eat like a dying man. He still holds steadfastly to that odd propriety, but he eats as hurriedly as he can while doing so, wolfing down the meat and noodles as if they’re about to leap off the plate if he eats too slowly. When he gets down to the broth at the bottom of the curved plate, he lifts the entire dish to his mouth and knocks back the liquid like it’s a second tea. Lee tries to eat his own food and pretend he’s not staring, but he’s never been very good at hiding his intrigue.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” Lee asks as Ozai sets his plate down and catches a wayward trickle of broth on his sleeve. Despite his mad dash to eat, there’s no food on his face. He continues to be an enigma in everything he does, down to how he eats.

“Quite some time, I think.” His hands go straight back to his lap, “I’d already gone several days without eating before I took up residence in your shed.” Lee frowns around another bite of food.

“Couldn’t afford to?” 

“Couldn’t afford the time.” Ozai answers cryptically.

 “Why were you on such a tight schedule?” The man shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

“The people I work for are many things, but they aren’t patient.” A gust of startlingly hot air leaves his lips as he sighs heavily, “But now that I’m already late, I don’t think it matters very much. I’m not getting paid now, whether I make an appearance in a day or ten days.” The dismay is written so plainly on his face that Lee can’t help but feel a touch of guilt.

“What kind of work do you do?” Lee asks, because he’s not sure how sincere he can make an apology sound.

“The less you know, the better.” The waitress quickly refills their teacups before she’s dashing off again, “For both of us.”

“But it’s why the Dai Li were—are chasing you.” Lee feels his heart stutter at the slip up, but Ozai doesn’t seem to catch on. He’s tied up in his own thoughts.

“Yes.” He answers curtly before Lee begins a more rapid succession of questioning.

“So it’s illegal.”

“That can be assumed.”

“Do you hurt people?”

“Possibly.”

“Kill?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“The Voices.” Ozai whispers. Lee blinks, perturbed before an amused snort leaves the man opposite him, “No. My employers, obviously. I don’t prefer to kill because of the hassle that is escaping the authorities, but I will do it if the reward is high enough.”

“Who did you kill?” Lee says under his breath, suddenly very aware of the other people around them. Most of them are too busy with their own conversations, but he still doesn’t want to risk being overheard when discussing the tawdry matter of manslaughter.

“I’m about finished.” Ozai sips his tea and stares Lee down pointedly. They’re reached the end of that line of questioning, apparently. The rest of the meal passes in silence, any attempts at mentioning Jia dying soon after they leave his mouth. When they get up and leave, the table empty of any kind of coin, Lee hopes the ruckus of the party of gambling men at the opposite table is enough to distract.

* * *

 

Despite Ozai’s reservations, Jia is a force of nature that even he has a hard time resisting. Like she does so often, she bends people’s will like she bends fire, and it does a better job convincing Ozai than Lee’s words ever could have. When they meet for the first time in the warehouse that had become their training grounds, Ozai already growling out his refusal to train her, she’s quick to convince him with her bending alone. She’s by no means a master, but firebending has always come more naturally to her. She adapts to the forms Ozai demonstrates like a fish to water. Her flames burn so hot that they’re vibrantly blue at their core. Her control has noticeably improved in just one session.

Lee hates her for it.

“If you keep making that face, it’ll get stuck like that.” Jia says as she drops from the upper loft of the warehouse and settles beside him.

“I’m not making a face.” Lee replies sharply. He can feel the warmth pouring from her skin and watches her drag the back of her hand across her forehead to clear the sweat.

“Yes you are. You’re pouting like I stole your favorite toy.” She nudges him with her shoulder and he responds by curling in a little more on himself.

“I don’t appreciate being the toy in this analogy.” Ozai calls from the loft but doesn’t come down. Lee can hear his footfalls and see the dust falling from the underside of the platform as he walks to the other side.

“Well you _did_.” He mumbles, ignoring Ozai’s words, but he can hear him grumbling something indignantly, “He was my teacher first, and I’m taking all the risk here, but suddenly you’re the star student! How is that fair?” She doesn’t react to his outburst with anything more than a soft chuckle. He glares at her as she stands and stretches the soreness out of her arms.

“Who said life was fair, Lee? Do you think the world owes you something because we’ve had it rough? Why? Why do I deserve to be a better firebender than you? There’s no reason. I just _am_. It’s not fair, but, unlike you, I never expected it to be.” That prompts Lee to stand, already fuming and ready to spit more than fire at her.

“You’re just saying that because you’re so good at it. If you—” _Were like me_ , “—weren’t as talented, you’d have a different opinion.” He spits back. His hands are clenched in tight fists, his shoulders stiff, and it puts him at complete odds with his largely relaxed sibling.

“Maybe. But I’m not like you, am I?” Her teasing tone tells him that it’s meant as a joke, but it still bites down to his core. He can feel harsh words bubbling up his throat too fast for him to catch.

“No. If you were, mom would like you.” It’s a cruel lie that both of them know isn’t true, but he’s close enough to her to know that it’s one of the few weak points in her seemingly impenetrable armor. His bond with his mother had always been tighter than that Jia shared with her, and he knows the guilt for using that against her will come back for him later.

“Like I care what a whore thinks of me!” She snaps. Flames have started around both of their fists without much conscious thought, but neither of them dares to throw the first punch. Jia’s fingers flex, and the flames ripple before going blue at their center.

“What are you waiting for?” The confrontation falters as they both turn to look up at Ozai, “Spar.” He elaborates, settling on the edge of the loft and hanging his legs over the edge. He props his elbows on his knees and leans forward, watching them as if he were a spectator at an event.

“Each other?” Lee asks, the flames around his fists sputtering and popping as they struggle to stay lit. Ozai doesn’t verbally answer him, the only reply coming in the form of his eyebrows arching subtly in the universal expression for _“Obviously.”_

“I’m not going to fight him.” Jia says, her flames flickering out as well as she crosses her arms over her chest, “He’s not worth it.” Lee makes an aggravated noise, but he can read the subtext in her stiff words. She won’t fight him because that’s a line they’ve _never_ crossed. In all their squabbles and arguments, they’ve never laid a hand on the other beyond an annoyed shove or a tug of hair. They had too many threats in their day-to-day lives as it was; they didn’t need to turn against each other. Jia was too proud to admit it, but she couldn’t quite break that unspoken rule either.

“Disappointing.” Ozai hums quietly enough that they can barely catch the word, “Really. I thought you were a promising bender. Disheartening to see you’re actually so weak.” Jia immediately reacts, that intense, white-hot fire springing back up with less control than what was necessary. Another chink in her armor was that word. _Weak_. It ignites that fire in her like nothing else.

“And as for you, Lee.” He stands slowly, smoothly, and something about the movement reminds him of a predator, “Perhaps you should just go run back home to your mother. Assuming she is home and not out doing…business.” He’s purposefully stoking their anger. They both know it, but they can’t stop it. It’s a violent, involuntary reaction that only becomes stronger when he jumps down to be on their level and takes on a defensive stance.

“Prove me wrong.” He adds. Lee hesitates, unsure about an uneven fight, but Jia has no such reservations. She bolts forward, leading with a punch engulfed in flames that Ozai stops just before it connects with his jaw. His hand encircles the base of her forearm, large enough to nearly overlap but she quickly recovers. She comes back with her other hand that’s aimed for his stomach and it connects in a spray of fire. She allows a victorious grin to cross her face at Ozai’s grunt of pain but it’s quickly removed when he grabs the fist still connected to his stomach and bends her hand back far enough that a _pop_ resonates between them.

Lee doesn’t really hear her cry of pain, already charging at him and spawning controlled streams of fire before he can put any thought into it. He’s not sure what he’s intending to do to defend Jia, but he knows that he needs to stop this by any means necessary. He goes for the only weak spot that’s helped him win a fight against Ozai before, throwing out a low, burning kick to his legs. The elder sees it coming, though, and lithely slides his leg back just enough for Lee’s kick to only soar through air. It completely throws off his balance, sending him toppling forward into his struggling sister.

Ozai releases her at that moment, and they both topple to the ground. Jia breaks the brunt of his fall, but he can already hear her fuming and cursing beneath him as she struggles to push him off with an injured wrist. He rolls off of her and onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows to glare up at Ozai. His stomach has sustained an irritated looking burn, but he doesn’t seem to even notice as he crosses his arms over his chest and looks down at them archly.

“Firstly, I am no one’s toy. I’m not something to be fought over, because I cannot be won.” He says with a false calmness, “I will train who I choose, for whatever duration I choose, regardless of perceived talent.” He and Jia lock eyes before he speaks again.

“Don’t think you’re a master because you’ve done well making fire. Until you two can actually put it to use, until you prove you can use firebending as it was meant to be used, you’re both useless as firebenders. A disgrace to the element.” He turns from them without further notice, heading for the warehouse exit, “We’re done.”

“For today.” Lee adds. He stands with some effort, offering a hand to Jia to help her up as well. She glares at him, batting his hand away with her undamaged appendage before she struggles to her feet as well. At Ozai’s lack of a response, they both watch him.

The silence is answer enough.

* * *

 

Pretending that he isn’t living in Lee’s backyard has only gotten more difficult now that Jia knows about him. She doesn’t know anything beyond the fact that he’s a firebender and Lee had _somehow_ convinced Ozai to train him, as far as they both know. It was better to keep it that way, but it served as a monumental inconvenience to him when he’s forced to split off from the two of them in a random direction to trick her. He waits in the dark, watching the bustle in the house as the siblings go about locking up the house.

The longer he stays, the more complicated this gets, he realizes. Just as soon as he’d started to settle his fears, they’re brought back to life with more fervor than before by none other than the boy’s own sister. She hadn’t had any time for his words before she’d eagerly shown off the firebending she’d taught herself. Which, while being completely nonsensical in the way of form, was rather impressive considering she’d received no training. But it wasn’t the fire she was creating that had entirely silenced him. No, it had been the fire within her that had stolen his words. Lee’s drive and ambition were frantic, almost desperate, where Jia’s was sharply focused. The two siblings were somehow similar but completely opposite.

And they were born two years apart to this mysterious, powerful, firebending man that their mother had supposedly been courted by. Another coincidence that he refuses to whip into correlation by comparing it to the other evidence he’s already collected. He’ll pretend he was struck by her audacity not because it reminded him of himself, but because someone so young possessed it.

The last lantern in the house fizzles out, suddenly, and Ozai takes his cue. He crosses the street under the shroud of darkness. The route around the house and over the fence is becoming a worryingly routine one. He can practically count his steps as he takes them, not needing any kind of light to guide him to the door. Creeping into the shed, he slumps onto the cot and is immediately enveloped in the calmness of the night now that he can relax. He spends long minutes sitting in the dark with his eyes clamped shut and palms pressed against the closed lids, thinking.

He’s decided.

Staying here is keeping him physically safe, but he can’t say the same for his mental state if he was delusional enough to believe he was seeing his long lost family in the faces of a group of strangers. He needed to free himself of the confines of these towering walls and remind himself who—and _when_ —he is. The past is just that, and Ozai intends to keep it there. First thing in the morning, as soon as those insufferable children leave for school, he’ll sneak out and use the cover of crowds to escape whatever Dai Li agents are scouring the Lower Ring for him. By the time Lee discovered his absence, he’d hopefully be long gone. It’s a plan with too many faults to name. Too many witnesses, too many risks, and too many factors he couldn’t plan for, but he’s not going to be eaten alive by the ghosts of his past.

He’s not sure when he falls asleep still propped up against the wall with his feet braced against the wall opposite him, but he’s sharply aware of the circumstances by which he is awoken. Blinding sunlight streams in on him from the open door of the shed, followed by a choked gasp and the shattering of pottery. His sleep addled brain looks to the pottery first, watching the dull orange shards spin on the ground before his eyes travel up the silhouetted form. He blinks as he realizes this form is far from Lee’s boxy, lean frame. There are too many familiar soft shapes.

“ _You?_ ” Her voice is akin to a flame being doused, all sizzle and smoke.

His eyes adjust to the light then, and the details of Lee’s mother’s face finally reveal themselves to him. If he could see the sky, he would look up to be sure the clouds still moved and the birds still flew. His words catch in his throat.

It seems the ghosts aren’t so easy to quell after all.       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter. Hoo boy. Still not entirely happy with it, but it’s pushing the plot along. Time to pull the ripcord and really get things moving from this point on. It’s also really hard to characterize Ozai sometimes holyyyy hell. I’ve rewritten his dialogue so many times in this chapter specifically because nothing felt right. Reviews and such. It’ll help me rationalize all these late nights.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finals week guys! So that's why this chapter took an especially long time to write. My apologies.

In their time apart, Ozai had forgotten how _furious_ Ursa could get if given proper reason. He doesn’t even get the chance to speak before she slams the shed door shut in his face so hard that if he hadn’t flinched away, it would’ve most likely broken his nose. He throws open the door and staggers out into the blinding sunlight. She’s still there, watching him as if he’s a rat viper prepared to strike. He moves slowly, not entirely sure if this is some kind of twisted fantasy conjured up by his overworked mind.

“Ursa?” He asks. Her entire body jolts slightly, her shoulders tightening and her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She looks at him with hard eyes, and her expression makes him spot the changes in her face over the years. The subtle discoloring on her cheeks from being in the sun too much, the faint lines around her eyes and mouth that are obvious signs of stress, the wisps of graying hairs framing her face. It’s all different but still so familiar.

“Don’t call me that.” She responds. He wants her to give a reason why. He wants her to tell him that it’s not her name, but now that he’s seen her, he can no longer live in doubt. After over a decade, there she is. He’d almost forgotten what her voice sounded like. He’s not sure if he missed it or not.

“That’s your name.” He says, coming closer to her. He needs to touch her, just to reassure himself that he hasn’t truly lost his mind, but with each step he takes she draws further away until her back meets the wall of the house. She hasn’t taken her eyes off of him once.

“Not anymore.” Maybe she thinks he’s a nightmare, just as he thinks she’s a dream. He edges closer now that she can’t move further away, only stopping when a few scant inches remain between them. He doesn’t believe her to be a dream because of any affection for her, it was more what she represented to him. She was part of the life that he still craved. She was a token of the title that had been robbed from him, and seeing her before, when he’d been freshly removed from the line of succession, had been too painful to bear. Now, though, she’s a pleasant reminder that that time had existed at all. When he was dressed in Earth Kingdom rags and huddled in a shed, it was hard to believe he was ever a Prince.

“So what do you call yourself?” His question is left unanswered. Her eyes finally leave him to flicker around hurriedly. He realizes she’s looking for a weapon a second too late, and she’s scrambling away from him in favor of the large rock propping the back door of the house open. Swinging the rock with more force than he’d credit her having, he only manages to avoid a head injury by catching her wrist and stopping the rock right as it grazes his temple.

“Don’t touch me!” She yells loud enough to make Ozai flinch and use his opposite hand to cover her mouth. She grabs his wrist with her free hand and digs her nails into the skin, drawing little pearls of blood from him.

“Don’t attack me and I won’t.” There’s mumbling against his hand and judging by the vibrations he can tell they’re louder than he’d like. Then she catches his skin between her teeth and bites down hard enough to make Ozai cry out and yank his hands away from her. He favors the hand and wrist she’d injured, glaring daggers at her as she darts away from him and towards the door.

“You can’t be here.” She slams the door behind her before Ozai can get close enough to follow her. He leans heavily against it, listening. He can hear her muttering something.

“Is this any way to treat your husband?” The muttering stops and something shatters against the door. Ozai reels back, blinking in surprise. She’d usually avoided conflict with him, opting for only fighting when it was something she felt passionate about, but even then she had never gotten this violent. She’d never dared do something like this when he’d had power over her. He realizes the dynamic of their relationship is nowhere near what it once was.

“You are not my husband!” Her voice sounds clearer, so he assumes she’s gotten closer to the door.

“I don’t recall ever getting divorced.” He quips, “Open the door.”

“I considered us annulled when you abandoned your entire family.” Ursa spits and completely ignores his request.

“I am not having this conversation through a door. Let me in or I will burn down this sorry excuse for a home.” Everything goes quiet, the two of them locked in a test of wills. He sees her peek through the crack between the door and the frame.

“You think I won’t?” He continues, raising a hand and igniting a lively ball of fire over it. It’s a risk to do so in broad daylight, but it proves his point and the lock of the door slowly turns. When the door swings open, Ursa has disappeared from the immediate room. Ozai lets out an annoyed breath as he closes the door behind himself.

“Hiding from me? Were you always this childish?” He slowly walks across the kitchen, glass crunching under his boots, and takes stock of the quaint surroundings. The cabinets all hang open with their contents set out on the surrounding counters. The basin underneath the tap is full of lukewarm water with utensils and pots still resting in the water. She’d been in the middle of some kind of organization when she’d found him, it seemed, but he loses interest in the small room quickly and continues into what could generously be called the living room. There’s several run down chairs sitting in the room’s center, with a short table braced against the far wall. A deck of dog-eared cards and a small stack of books are the only things occupying the table.

Still, he’s indifferent and continues down the adjoining hall. It’s not long, and the first door he comes to is a bedroom. He gains hope that it’s possibly Ursa’s, but when he takes a closer look he sees a second bed in the room. There’s an obvious divide in the room, one half belonging to one person and the other to another. It’s Lee and Jia’s—Zuko and Azula’s, he corrects—room, by the looks of it. Small and cramped with little space to do anything more than sleep, Ozai lets out a steaming breath. Such conditions were unfit for members of the Royal Family, and because of a peasant revolt, this was all they had ever known. It was likely that it was all they ever _would_ know.

He’s about to continue his search when Ursa reappears behind him.

“I wasn’t hiding.” The point of a blade presses into his side. It cuts through his shirt but it’s not held with enough pressure to break the skin underneath.

“You’ve gotten bold.” He says without turning to look at her, “But you forget that Prince or not, I’m still more powerful than you will _ever_ be.” The knife nicks his side when he pulls away from her, but before she can change her position to stab at him he’s got her wrists in his hands and her body pinned beneath his against the nearest wall. The whole structure seems to shudder with the impact. Even with him holding her wrists over her head, she still holds firmly onto the knife.

“Drop the knife.” He commands. He feels the muscles in her wrists tense and flex as she grips the handle of the knife even more tightly.

“How did you find us?” She asks, once again ignoring his request.

“I wasn’t looking for you. This is entirely a matter of coincidence.” He says through gritted teeth. She shoots him a disbelieving look and twists in his grip. It prompts him to lean more of his weight into her.

“Do you think that little of my intelligence?” She tries to twist the knife in her grip to angle it towards his hands gripping her wrists, but he jerks her arms as she does so and the movement jolts the blade from her grasp. It clatters to the ground loudly in the dead silent hall.

“You don’t want the answer to that.” He grunts as her knee digs dangerously high into his thigh, the last minute shift of his own leg saving him a lot of pain, “But I’m telling the truth. I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here. You can thank your son for my presence.” The fact that Lee is her son and, by extension, his as well, is something he’s still keeping at the back of his mind. He has to deal with this crisis before he can confront the next.

“Lee…” She says absently, the realization visible on her face as she connects the dots, “What have you told him? You—”

“Relax. I didn’t know I was his father until I saw you, so that isn’t why he offered me shelter.” He tries to put his explanation into enough words to both explain himself and not reveal too much, “He wanted my assistance, and in return, he offered to hide me from…a group of people. It’s really very simple.” Except it’s not. It’s just gotten so much more complicated, because Lee and Jia aren’t just children and this woman before him isn’t just their mother. Leaving them all behind the first time had been difficult enough without the children being nearly adults.

“You better not be putting him in danger. What kind of assistance does he want from you? What do you have to offer?” She lowers her leg back to the ground, and her hands go slightly more lax in his grip. She’s by no means at ease, but her focus has shifted from fighting him to getting more information from him.

“That is unimportant. I was just on my way out, anyway.” Ozai’s jaw clenches as he looks from her hands to her face. He waits for what feels like an eternity before he releases her hands and steps back from her. She doesn’t seem to be going for the knife, but he plants the heel of his boot on its handle anyway.

“So you’re running away again.” That catches him off guard, his foot almost slipping from its position on the blade.

“I have _never_ run away from anything.” He huffs, “And you say that like you want me to stay which, judging by the welcome I received, I don’t think is the case.” She stands with her shoulders pushed back, chin held high and narrowed eyes trying to bore holes into him with her gaze alone. Despite being a few inches shorter than him, she doesn’t let the disadvantage dampen her courage.

“I don’t want you to stay but, now that you’re here, you’re not leaving without explaining yourself.” She says evenly. Her eyes drop to the floor and she takes in a deep breath to steady herself now that the adrenaline is waning.

“I already told you why I—”

“ _No_. Not why you’re here now. Why you left.” She interrupts, “You’re going to explain to me why you abandoned me and two children—one of them being an _infant_ —in the middle of a foreign land with nothing. Why you thought you had the right to disappear in the middle of the night without a note, without a goodbye, without _anything_.” She’s getting closer as she speaks, stalking up to him and making quick, irritated gestures to accentuate her words. He remembers that night as she draws it back out from his buried memories, a shudder running through him as the thought of that bone chilling cold courses through him. He shoves the memory back down with a twitch of his head. It’s better left buried.

“It was dangerous.” He says after deliberation. She laughs and it’s an exasperated sound.

“I know it was! That’s why we _needed you_.” Her voice almost cracks as she forces the words out around the pain of the memory.

“It was dangerous because of me, Ursa.” It was fifteen years ago, yet he remembers the sequences of events as clearly as if they had happened yesterday now that she’s forced them to the surface, “We were almost recognized in that last town we’d stopped in, and they only looked at us with so much scrutiny because of me. I was the one the rebels wanted the most. With us separated, you and the children fell in priority.”

“ _No_.” She shoves him. He balks at that, stumbling back off of the handle of the blade and bracing himself against the nearest wall. She’d _shoved_ him. He takes a long, hard look at her to make sure this really was Ursa.

“No, you don’t get to play the ‘Noble Prince’ making a sacrifice for his family in this. We may have gotten less scrutiny, but do you have any idea how much more danger you put us in by leaving? Do you think you made it easier for us just because some suspicious people stopped giving us second looks?” For the first time since they’d crossed paths again, she turns her back on him and worries the ends of her hair, “I had no money, no food, no means to provide for them. And even when I did, I nearly lost Lee because he refused to do anything.” Her shoulders shake violently, and he edges closer in curiosity. Her hands quickly come up to wipe at her face and Ozai stops in his tracks as he realizes she’s crying. He was never good at dealing with a crying woman.

“He just kept demanding that I find _you_. That I needed to get _you_ and bring us all back home. For the longest time, he thought you were coming back, and that everything would go back to how it was. Everything would be better once _you_ came back.” She whips around, “And now here you are, only fifteen years late.” It was a rare occasion that Ozai was struck speechless, his rebuttal stuck in his throat as he tries to speak it.

“But the thing is, now that you’re here, we don’t need you.” She smiles against her hand, wiping away the remaining tears on her cheeks, “It would have been easier with you, obviously, but I don’t need you. I raised them by myself. I built an entire life for myself—for my kids—here, and I did it on my own.” That rekindles the fire in his core, an indignant sneer crossing his face. He won’t let her twist this narrative out of his favor.

“And how many times did you have to spread your legs to do that, I wonder?” With the way her jaw clenches and her hand curls into a fist against her cheek, he anticipates her launching another attack at him. She stays where she is.

“I did what I had to. If I have to become someone else and do…certain things to provide for my children, it’s worth it. There’s no shame in that.” She laughs once again, the sound more genuinely amused this time, “But you…what kind of life have you built for yourself, Ozai? No palace, no servants, no titles. Do you even know how to be just a man?”

“It’s fine. My life is fine. I travel the world; it’s quite the adventure. But I won’t bore you with those details. I’m sure your life here servicing any peasant with a heavy pocket puts my stories to shame.” He says dismissively. He doesn’t like how this conversation has turned, and every jab is an attempt at forcing it back in his favor.

“Your really haven’t changed.”

“I don’t see why I would have needed to.” She drops her hands to her sides, giving a shrug.

“I know you don’t.” Despite his best efforts, Ozai still feels like he’s lost this fight somehow. He’d never given her full credit for it, but she’s cleverer than a good portion of the people he’s ever met. When he’d had the advantage of power, it didn’t matter how clever or quick she was, but now that they stand on an even playing field she’s an uncomfortably close match for him.

“If that’s enough explanation for you, I think I’ll be leaving now.” He decides. He walks by her; his shoulder brushing hers and the touch is so charged that he idly rubs the skin as he approaches the door, “We’ll catch up in another fifteen years.” He taunts. She’s about to come back at him with another sharp reply when a series of quick knocks on the front door calls their attention. They both stay completely still until the knocks come again and the door swings open without need of an answer.

“Hello?” An authoritative, yet tired, voice asks. Ozai is convinced this is some kind of paranoid nightmare as a Dai Li agent steps into the house, tipping the brim of his wide hat back to quickly survey the room. Ozai is too far from the entrance of either the kitchen or the hall to take shelter in them, and he knows running would be far too suspicious, so he does the only thing he can and tilts his head forward until his hair falls like a curtain around his face.

“I’m sorry to come in without welcome, but it’s on the Earth King’s orders that every home in the Lower Ring be searched.” He unrolls a scroll, presenting it to Ursa, “Is this the correct information of your household? It’s only you and your children here?” The man’s gaze drifts from her to Ozai, and he fidgets nervously. The Dai Li had never gotten a very close look at him when he was running, and he wasn’t in the same attire they’d originally seen him in, but there was a chance that just one of them had gotten too good of a look at his face.

“Yes, that’s correct.” Ursa says, following the man’s gaze to her uninvited guest, “What are you searching for?”

“A mercenary. He’s wanted for high treason, breaking and entering, murder of an Upper Ring dignitary, and resisting arrest. There’s no reason to worry, we’re almost certain he’s left Ba Sing Se, but this is just a precaution to make sure he’s not being harbored by any civilians. The safety of all citizens is the Earth King’s top priority.” He slowly rolls the scroll back up as he speaks, turning to face Ozai, “And who is this?” He asks. The two of them share a tense gaze, and he can see the options flashing through her mind as she considers them. He silently pleads for her to let him try to talk his way out of this.

“He’s—” She starts, and he’s not waiting to see if she’ll turn on him.

“Her husband. I’m her husband.” The Dai Li agent frowns, quickly opening the scroll again and scanning it.

“Her husband is listed as deceased, sir.” Ursa’s brows draw inwards with anger at him speaking over her—lying for her—but when he gives her another loaded look she pauses. Harboring a fugitive, knowingly or unknowingly, would get her in more trouble than she could get herself out of.

“He’s been living in Gaoling. He had trade business there. There must have been an error when I reported he’d be leaving.” She says and Ozai is relieved to see that she’s a better liar than Lee. It’s convincing enough, if a little dispassionate, “But he just got back and I haven’t had time to report it.” The agent continues to study the scroll and shakes his head.

“These records are a mess. I’m sorry sir; can I ask your name? It’s not even listed here.” This agent has obviously been searching houses all day, wanting to get this unassuming shack out of the way and continue along his route. Ozai is beyond thankful for his carelessness.

“Tatsuo.” Ozai blurts out and attempts not to flinch. Perhaps calling himself what essentially means _dragon man_ isn’t the smartest idea he’s come up with. The man doesn’t find anything odd about it, though, and adds his name onto the scroll.

“Thank you. We have so many immigrants that mistakes happen all the time. So sorry about that.” He tucks the scroll into the band around his waist, “I’m going to search your premises, now. I’ll be done shortly, so please go about your business.” They nod in unison as he disappears down the hall and into Lee and Jia’s bedroom. Ozai looks to the front door before letting out a defeated breath and settling in the closest chair. He wonders if he’s ever going to be able to leave this place.

* * *

 

Lee had thought the Dai Li had given up their search for Ozai for the most part, but they seem to have doubled down their efforts. They search the streets and tear apart every building a fugitive could possibly hide in. Panic makes his chest go tight and he forgets about the satchel he’d been eying on the hip of a passing man. Stealing a couple of coins suddenly seems very unimportant as he races away from the steps of his dilapidated schoolhouse. He hears Jia call out for him, but he’s too far away to comfortably answer her. If all goes well, he won’t have to explain.

Unfortunately for him, the afternoon is the busiest time in the Lower Ring. Even the back streets are crowded and the presence of the Dai Li only makes everyone more anxious and difficult to maneuver. Lee’s patience disappears and he doesn’t even think before he starts hopping on windowsills, merchant booths and trash bins to bypass the crowd. It draws some attention, but he considers it worth it.

“Practically searched this entire Ring and we’ve got nothing to show for it. That mongrel is long gone.” In his zeal to move forward, he nearly leaps directly on top of a pair of sulking Dai Li agents, only managing to avoid that fate by toppling to the ground instead. He lands heavily in the dirt, but the noise is lost in the hum of the crowd.

“It would also help if we knew who we were looking for. Black hair, large build, tall. Doesn’t really narrow it down. The only thing we have to single him out is that he’s a firebender and it’s not like we can know that just by looking at someone. He could be right under our noses and we would have no idea.” Lee sits up and brushes off the passerby trying to help him up, scooting back against the nearest wall and listening more intently.

“Well, there is that rumor going around—” One of the agents scoffs, shaking his head.

“Oh, please. Everyone knows the Fire Nation Princes died years ago. People say they saw one of them every other day hoping for some kind of attention. I’m not wasting my time with that gossip when we have an actual _living_ criminal to find.” They start to walk away, their words fading into the nonsensical noise of the afternoon rush.

“Let’s just report back so we can get out of this dump. Whoever this mystery firebender is, he’s someone else’s problem now.” Lee gets to his feet once they retreat, waiting until they’re completely out of his sight before he continues his mad dash to the house. They hadn’t found him, by the sound of it, so he could only assume Ozai had somehow hidden from them. He can’t imagine how, and concern rises once again as he considers that those agents just weren’t aware that Ozai had been caught.

A slew of scenarios flood his mind. If they found Ozai, they would arrest him or possibly execute him on the spot, but the trouble wouldn’t end there. He’s a fugitive being held on his mother’s property and, as such, his mother would face the Dai Li’s wrath for it. It was something she couldn’t ‘convince’ her way out of, surely. His breath comes in panicked pants as he sees the shape of his house in the distance. It’s still standing, which is more than he thought he would find. He was sure it would be a pile of flaming rubble.

He’s already forming plans to save his mother before he even reaches the front door, untamed flames trailing behind his fists as he runs. He doesn’t bother opening the door, opting to throw the entire weight and momentum of his body against it instead. Adrenaline spikes through him when the door shatters and he tumbles into the living room in a flurry of flames and shredded cheap wood. He’s ready for the ensuing fight, his fists held defensively in front of him and powerful balls of flame hovering over them.

But the fight doesn’t come. The living room is exactly how he had left it minus a door. Noriko enters, panicked only because of the sound of her door being shattered, and Lee sheepishly stands. He’s about to start to try and explain himself when he sees Ozai’s form following her from the hallway.

“ _Lee!_ What did you do to the door?” She asks, hurrying over to him. She’s looking him over to ensure there are no splinters imbedded in him, but Lee doesn’t look at her. He looks past her, staring at Ozai as he casually brushes the debris off of a seat and settles into it like he belongs there.

“Mom, I…uh so you’ve met my…” He doesn’t have enough information on the circumstances before him to make a proper lie.

“If by met, you mean found him in my shed, then yes, I did.” Now that she’s confirmed he hasn’t been physically harmed, her anger rises, “Now what did you think you were doing? Now I have to replace the door!” Lee is visibly flustered as he hurries to both process the information and make a rebuttal.

“I was protecting you!” He protests, knowing he should explain more but the words don’t come to him. He can’t imagine his mother would ever be so blasé about finding a strange man in their shed.

“Well, you certainly slayed that door. You’re a hero.” Ozai says offhandedly, but it lacks its usual bite. For some reason, he won’t meet Lee’s eyes when he looks at him. Every time the man glances his way, his eyes divert to anywhere but him.

“I thought the Dai Li were coming for you. And once they found you, then they’d go after mom.” Lee explains. She frowns, obviously about to chide him for bringing the danger here in the first place, but Ozai cuts her off before she can begin.

“They did come for me. We convinced them that I wasn’t who they were looking for, though. So the danger has passed. You don’t need to punish any more doors.” Noriko gives him one of _those_ looks that usually has Lee hunching in on himself, but Ozai does nothing more than return her gaze with a challenging one of his own. The strangest tension exists in their unbroken gaze and when the corner of Ozai’s mouth pulls up in a mocking smirk, Lee clears his throat pointedly.

“I would appreciate it if you stopped mocking him.” She says venomously.

“The child stows a fugitive on your premises and I’m the one you’re mad at?” He scoffs in return.

“No, I’m mad at him as well, don’t worry about that. And we’re going to have a very long talk about this, but I don’t need your input.” His eyes narrow with restrained fury, an annoyed breath blowing a few stray strands of hair out of his face. He clearly wants to say something in particular to her, and her posture tenses up in anticipation for the verbal blow. But then he looks to Lee and clenches his fists at his sides.

“By all means. I’ll give you two some privacy then.” He stands sharply enough that the chair teeters precariously and, once again, they exchange that loaded gaze. Lee is both concerned and confused as he watches Ozai disappear into the kitchen.

“Did you two already know each other?” Lee asks before she can begin her lecture. She’s caught off guard, clearly deciding on an answer.

“A long time ago, in the Fire Nation. It was so long ago, it doesn’t really matter.” There’s more behind those words than she’s willing to tell, “What does matter is that you brought him here without my permission and risked everything just to learn firebending. Do you realize how dangerous that is? How dangerous _he_ is?”

“It’s more dangerous for us not to know how to control our bending!” Lee starts, but she silences him with a raised finger.

“Us?” She asks, “Please don’t tell me you brought your sister into this.” He sputters out denials, but lying to her had always been an effort in vain. He drops his attempts at a defense and nods.

“I didn’t want to! She forced me to let her in on the training.” She doesn’t say anything, which is possibly more terrifying than an enraged answer. After an inordinately long time, she runs her hand over her face and murmurs into her palm.

“You are in so much trouble, I don’t even know how to begin punishing you. Just get him out of here, and we’ll get to your punishment.” She sounds tired as she gazes over her hand into the kitchen. He follows her gaze to Ozai’s looming form in the doorway.

He wishes he could understand why they look at each other like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way too long to write. It’s finals week, plus I have to pack up and move to my new apartment, so spare time is rare. I finally got this cranked out, though, and I’m alright with how this turned out. So much exposition. So much. Action is coming next chapter guys I promise. Reviews and comments, I absolutely cherish each one, guys.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arrangement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. It most certainly isn't worth the wait, but I've finally gotten it done. Thank god.

Dinner is a surreal experience for everyone involved.

Lee and Jia— _Zuko_ and _Azula_ —Ozai corrects himself repeatedly, sit across from each other at the small dining table in the cramped kitchen, and Ursa eyes him warily from her place opposite him. He’s almost impressed at how little she has to look at her plate to eat, her untrusting gaze refusing to leave him for more than a few moments. Ozai pretends not to notice, more interested in the stale bread on his plate with the suspicious clefts where mold had most certainly once been.

Unfortunately, the chunk of bread left on his mostly clean plate loses his interest midway into the meal and he looks anywhere else but his estranged wife. He finds himself studying his long lost children instead, picking up on little things he hadn’t bothered to notice before. The way Azula more stabs at her food than eats it, skewering several chunks of stewed vegetables on her chopstick in quick succession before she eats it. Her opposite hand is rested on the table, almost guarding her plate as if someone were poised to steal it if she let her vigilance drop for even a moment. She’s efficient, but guarded. They’re both traits that would have served her well in a royal court.

Zuko is a bit more troubling. He doesn’t see himself so much in the slumping of the boy’s back, or the way his mop of dark hair hangs in front of his eyes as he looks down at his plate with his lips pressed into a stern line. But there’s a hidden power there in the rigidity of his shoulders and the twitch of lean muscle in his arm. He interrupts Ozai’s inspection by meeting the man’s gaze directly. Zuko’s eyes narrow challengingly and Ozai’s back straightens without a conscious thought.

“Mom said she knows you from the Fire Nation.” Zuko says in a tone that is far too collected to be natural. He’s testing both of the adults at the table, not swiveling his head but shifting his gaze between them equally.

“Did she now?” Ozai asks instead of answering, sitting back in his chair. The old wood creaks disconcertingly.

“That’s all I said. That we knew each other.” Ursa speaks firmly and it gets Azula to stop with her utensils hovering between the plate and her mouth. She sets it down, far more interested in the exchange than her food.

“How did you know him?” Azula interjects. It’s an innocent question, but Ozai can see the wheels turning in Ursa’s head to come up with an answer. Neither of them is willing to let the children know the truth about the identity of their father for different reasons. Ozai comes up with a story first.

“We were raised in the same village. We…went to school together.” In reality, Ozai had only been to Ursa’s hometown once. He hadn’t been very impressed by the entire ordeal, the tiny Fire Nation colony reeking of qualities some peasants would call quaint. He had thought the village reeked of something else entirely.

“The same town, huh?” Azula asks. He suddenly feels like he’s being interrogated more than spoken to as his daughters posture shifts so her shoulders are squared and her elbows are propped on the table with her hands folded under her chin, “What was the name of that place again?” Ozai tries not to look stumped, his mind pulling a complete blank. He’d only heard the name of it a handful of times, and talk of that village had ended shortly after their wedding.

“Hira’a.” Ursa quickly answers, but it’s not quickly enough to cover the awkward pause Ozai’s lack of knowledge had created. Azula’s lip quirks in just the slightest hint of a smirk before she shrugs and goes back to her food. There’s something brewing in her mind, obviously, but Ozai doesn’t question her. He decides it’s best saved for a later date.

“She never talked about you.” Zuko says to his plate.

“Well, we—”

“We weren’t that good of friends.” Ozai interrupts Ursa. She seems satisfied enough with the narrative and doesn’t contradict him. The sharp noise of Azula setting down her chopsticks draws everyone’s attention at the silent table.

“Good enough friends to be married, apparently.” A lot of things happen at once. Zuko’s chopsticks tumble out of his hands and clatter to the ground as he hurriedly demands an explanation from Ursa, while his mother frantically tries to piece together an explanation to her accusation. It’s not making a whole lot of sense and Ozai’s tolerance for both Lee and Ursa’s chattering runs out fast. He slams his palms on the table in a cloud of smoke as the wood beneath his palm singes. Now the only noise is the clanking of settling porcelain.

“Explain yourself, Azula.” He speaks firmly and fixes a heated gaze directly on his daughter. Both of the siblings share a confused glance.

“Who’s Azula?” She asks. Ozai breathes out harshly from his nose as he thinks of the best way to backtrack.

“I misspoke. Explain yourself, Jia.” She crosses her arms, defensive.

“I overheard some Dai Li agents when I was walking home. Talking about there being an error in the records for our house. They were happy to tell me my father had returned.” She arches a brow, tapping a delicate finger against her arm, “So why do they think you’re married to mom?”

“Could you think of a better excuse for why a strange, unaccounted man was in your house while they were hunting for a criminal with my description?” Neither of the children seem to be easily buying the excuse. Azula’s watching him like she’s trying to crack open his skull and hunt around for the truth in there, while Zuko is looking in the opposite direction. He’s watching Ursa, his teeth catching his bottom lip and worrying it as he picks her apart in an entirely different way. It’s obvious he knows her well enough to read her like a book.

“I think it’s time we clean up.” Ursa says and tucks a stray strand of hair back into the loose knot holding it back. She scoops up the dishes in a practiced manner, easily stacking them in one hand and bracing them against her chest before busying herself at the sink.

“Which means it is just about time to continue your training.” Ozai doesn’t wait for a response, standing from the table quickly enough that his chair teeters on two legs before it falls back to four with a clatter. He lives behind a room full of harsh whispers.

* * *

Ozai trains them _hard_.

He doesn’t pull his punches, this time. He fights both of them at once, and he holds his own pretty easily because of the considerable upper hand of knowing his opponents. Each of them have their strengths and weaknesses that are entirely unique to them.

Zuko is quiet and light on his feet; hard to hear coming in a heated battle if you lost sight of him, which Ozai frequently did. The boy had a knack for blending into shadows. He tended to be stronger in using his fire defensively, throwing up walls of flame to deter a punch rather than striking first. Thus, his offense needed work. He wasn’t precise in his pushes forward, throwing too much of his torso into the punches and ending up throwing himself off balance. His kicks were even worse. He often lost his confidence halfway through the motion and tried to plant his foot back down, which only left him in an awkward, wide stance that was easy to take advantage of.

Azula is all power. Her forward pushes are staggering for her petite size, strong enough to make Ozai stagger if she landed a solid punch near his center. She could be a true warrior with a little refining. Yet this is also one of her flaws, making her defense weak. She doesn’t seem to grasp the concept of a true defense, turning even guarding into an attack on whoever was attacking her. She responded to a punch with a punch of her own, and an attack with an even stronger blast. She quite literally fought fire with fire, and the constant onslaught without control made her easy to exhaust.

Like clockwork, they prove these facts to be true. He’s lost sight of Zuko again, and Azula is coming at him with everything she’s got. Her scorching, near-blue flames follow her fists and frantic kicks. He blocks them as best he can, and keeps up with her blow for blow until a sharp line of fire licks up his back. It throws him off guard, allowing Azula to jab a kick into his stomach and send him onto his tender back. The jagged edge of a broken floorboard is held up to his neck, and he gives Zuko an unimpressed gaze.

“I don’t recall allowing props.” Ozai complains. Zuko smirks, pulling back and spinning the board on his palm.

“You didn’t say we couldn’t.”

“I suppose.” Ozai starts to push himself back up, but Azula’s heel is digging into his throat before he can even get his elbows beneath him. Zuko stops the board with a finger and looks to his sister with concern.

“Not so fast.” She says. Her bare heel is still warm, almost uncomfortably so, against his throat. He considers grabbing her ankle and pushing her leg away, but that would give her the opportunity to use the movement to jam her knee into his neck. That sounded considerably less comfortable.

“Jia? What are you—” She shushes Zuko.

“Who’s Azula?” She demands. Ozai relaxes once she makes her intentions known.

“Is that what this is about? A slip of the tongue I had at dinner?” Her heel grinds down, making him grit his teeth and grab her ankle.

“Who is Azula?” She repeats. Zuko tries to reason with her, dropping the ruined floorboard. She extends a hand in his direction, holding it flat and straight. A precise jet of fire hovers in front of her fingertips.

“Does it sound familiar to you?” She asks in a slightly softer tone, her tightened brow easing slightly. It’s obvious the fire aimed at Zuko is an empty threat, meant more to keep him from assisting Ozai than actually harming her brother.

Zuko shakes his head, eying the flame before him.

“She’s someone I knew in the Fire Nation.” Ozai says, telling a half-truth. He had known her, after all, if only for a short time, “You remind me of her.”

“Who was she?” Azula corrects her question to be in the past tense. Ozai decides to take a risk for reasons even he doesn’t understand.

“My daughter. I lost her when she was an infant.” A somber silence passes between the three of them, the pressure of Azula’s heel disappears, “That’s who Azula is.”

 _Abandoned._ A voice that’s a little too similar to Ursa’s mentally corrects him. He’d abandoned her. Abandoned all of them.

“How could I remind you of an infant?” She’s still defensive, and he expects nothing less.

“Even with very young children, you can see what kind of personality they’re bound to form. She was going to be…very spirited, like you.” Ozai sits up, reaching behind himself to feel the sweltering burns starting to form on his back, “Like both of you.”

“Oh.” She breathes out. Zuko looks down at him with pity and he stands with an annoyed huff. He never liked pity.

“Alright, that is enough. It’s ancient history, as far as the two of you are concerned.” He stands and walks away from them, leaning in the doorway of the crumbling building, “You’re lucky I even agreed to train you today after last time. You’re really going to waste my time with some irrelevant tragic tales from my past?”

“Ozai, we didn’t mean to bring that up. We didn’t know you’d had a family before…” Zuko trails off, but they all know what he’s insinuating. The revolt. The single most ruinous event in his life that had changed the course of so many people’s lives, for the better and worst.

“Whether it was your intention or not, you did. So let that be a lesson to both of you.” He hears their steps closing in.

“A lesson?”

“Do not pry into the anoles of my history. You won’t like what you find.” He means it in more ways than one, but he’ll let them interpret that as they wish. There’s no way they could read every meaning from where they stood.

* * *

Ursa feels sick, as she always does after these excursions. Her skin feels like it’s not her own, every inch that her customer’s hands had touched crawling like he’d injected dirt directly into her veins. She scrubs up her hands and arms with the quickly chilling bathwater, the thin suds starting to foam up over her shoulders in the bath. Still, she doesn’t feel clean. Still, she can feel a ghost of the man’s touch as clearly as she can recall the feel of the golden coins in her palm.

She thinks of the things she can buy with those coins. She thinks of the new boots she can buy Lee to replace the tattered and beaten shoes that he wore now. She thinks of the new dress she can buy Jia. She had so few dresses, and—even if she vehemently spoke of how she didn’t need them—she still looked for just one extra moment when they passed the sparsely stocked dress booth in the market. She thinks of the food she can buy to feed them. The bread that’s still soft on the inside, and the vegetables that were still firm when she cut them. Perhaps, if she managed to stretch these coins extra far, she could replace some of their thinner blankets in preparation for the oncoming winter.

The water feels colder and she shivers and tries to unsuccessfully will it warmer with her mind, sinking in until the bubbles envelope her ears. She keeps sinking until she’s in another world of silence and room temperature water dragging the man’s presence from her skin. It seems to work for a moment, and she breathes out a bubble of air into the water that surfaces with a muted pop.

Her momentary peace is stolen when she feels a slight shockwave through the water as if something had struck the thin walls of the house. She jolts her head and shoulders above the water, gasping and pushing the soap and hair out of her eyes.

“Lee? Jia?” She calls. She’d known where the three of them had gone and objected to it, but she could never resist the two of them when they begged her for something she could give. Ozai wasn’t supposed to be around for much longer, anyway, so the threat would pass soon enough.

What really concerns her is the lack of an immediate answer.

“…Ozai?” She hesitantly calls, sinking a little lower in the water. Her towel suddenly seems quite far away in the small bathroom, resting on the door handle on the other side of the room. There’s more noise, muted but thunderous footfalls, and it’s headed directly towards the bathroom. Whoever is creating the noise passes by, though, and continues down the hall to her bedroom. It’s not hard to miss the bathroom door, considering how it blends in with the grain of the wood walls, so she can’t be sure if the unknown person is aware of where she is or not.

She stays quiet, gripping the chipped edges of the porcelain tub as she takes stock of what could be used as a weapon should she need to defend herself. Break-ins were not uncommon in this section of Ba Sing Se, nor were entitled men who heard of a woman selling her body and had decided to make themselves welcome in her home, thinking it a brothel. Unfortunately, the only thing she could conceivably use to defend herself was a dull pair of scissors resting on the edge of the sink inset in the wall. She’s half climbed out of the tub and brushed her fingers against the handle of the scissors when the door swings open completely.

Ursa nearly slips as she fumbles to get a firm grip on the scissors, tossing them at the looming form in the doorway without getting a proper look at him. There’s a sharp hiss as the scissors miraculously find their mark, the tip of them biting into his shoulder. She immediately drops back into the water and covers her chest with her arms when she actually studies the face of her assailant.

“This is the second time you’ve nicked me with a sharp object in a day. I should start wearing armor.” Ozai grumbles into his shoulder as he plucks the scissors from his skin. He drops the tool to the floor with a clatter and cauterizes the wound with a precise swipe of flame from his thumb.

“Get out!” She yells, extremely conscious of the too thin layer of soap covering the water. It did barely more than blur her body, and she was sure Ozai was tall enough to see most of her.

“We need to talk.” He closes the door behind himself as they hear two pairs of footfalls approaching, and the click of the lock makes her arms tighten around herself.

“It can’t wait until I’m clothed?” She cries. Ozai shakes his head.

“I suppose you recall us conceiving the children clothed?” He quips back dryly. She risks kicking a leg out of the water to splash him. It’s petty, but the way he flinches back and glares gives her a sense of satisfaction.

“You have no right to see me like this now. You know this isn’t the same.” She says. He doesn’t verbally answer, huffing in annoyance and fetching the towel for her. He holds it out to her, but she refuses to take it in exchange for exposing any of herself.

“Look away.” She demands. His gaze doesn’t waver, and his fist tightens in the thin fabric of the towel.

“Ursa.” He insists, straightening his arm. She fears he might singe the towel if she insists, but she does anyway.

“Look away.” She repeats, watching his eyes narrow dangerously. He lets out a noise she can only call a snarl and throws the towel to the ground before turning on his heel. He faces the door, crossing his arms.

“This is ridiculous, you know. Especially considering the men you _do_ allow to see you like this without issue.” She pauses in her effort to retrieve the towel from the floor, glaring at the muscles of his back being held taut with anger, “Perhaps I should pay you, and this wouldn’t be an issue.” She eyes the scissors again but lets the thought go, standing from the water and wrapping the towel around herself. There are still remnants of soap in her hair, so she does plan on returning to the bath, but the water is sure to be ice cold by the time she gets back to it.

“Fifteen years and you are still so charming.” She huffs, “What do you want to say?” He turns back to face her, arms still crossed tightly across the solid plane of his chest. He’s broad enough to practically touch both walls of the bathroom with his shoulders at once, and she can’t help but acknowledge she can’t possibly get out of the bathroom unless he permits it.

“Before I was given proof of your…monetary activities, I liked to believe I was mistaken. Perhaps you and Zuko were playing some kind of sick joke on a man you despise and he doesn’t trust. But, as I was returning, a man—if I could be so generous calling that beast a man—asked me if I was going to be using the same service. He advised that I ask for a discount, considering that I’d be receiving…” He leans against one of the walls, the tendons in his neck straining as he stresses the syllables, “ _Leftovers_.”

“I told you that I do what I must to provide for my family. I wasn’t lying, or trying to trick you. Why do you care?” She speaks to the floor, uninterested in continuing this played out discussion.

“You’re a Princess of the Fire Nation. Selling yourself for some petty coin insults the royal—” She stands, cutting him off as she picks up the scissors from the floor. She has no intention of stabbing him, but it helps her feel like she’s evened the playing field.

“The monarchy doesn’t exist anymore. It doesn’t control me, and it doesn’t mean _anything_. I can’t feed my family with a title.” Ozai grabs the wrist of the hand holding the scissors and yanks her arm aside. She has to adjust her grip on the towel at the last minute to keep it from sliding off.

“Your honor is worth far more than any food.” He states. She scoffs, twisting her wrist in his grip. It accomplishes what she assumes his goal was, making her drop the scissors, but he still doesn’t release her wrist.

“What do you know about honor? You’re a disgraced Prince of a monarchy that doesn’t exist anymore.” She quite literally laughs in his face, feeling tired, worn down to the bone, and entirely not eager to be so close to another man after the events earlier in the night, “And even if it did, you weren’t even in line to be Fire Lord. Your brother is the only one who deserves to talk the way you do.” His hand is on her throat and air abandons her as her back slams against the nearest wall. The sink’s edge digs into her lower back and she abandons her grip on the towel in favor of grasping at his wrist. She’s distantly aware of being exposed again, but his eyes don’t waver from her own. It’s truly a gaze she could never forget, brilliantly golden and burning with the urge to sear the flesh from her skull. She quivers under his hold and hopes he doesn’t feel the movement against his searing palm.

“The only reason you’re still alive is out of respect for our past. If not for that, you would be nothing but a pile of glowing embers at this moment.” She grinds her teeth together, unable to respond, “How dare you speak to me like that? What gives you the right?” She stares back at him until he loosens his grip on her throat enough to let her breathe.

“I earned it.” She says cryptically. He can interpret that however he likes.

“Earned it.” He repeats, his hand suddenly dropping from her throat to rest on her shoulder, “Is this some form of reparation you need to work out? Some tantrum you need to throw? Very well. Is there anything else you feel compelled to tell me?” A thousand insults cross her mind, all of them true and biting, but none of them feel quite right. She isn’t even sure which one she’s settled on when she opens her mouth.

“I missed you.” She isn’t even sure she’s said those words when she hears them, “Not…not _you_. The idea of you.” The air between them feels charged, the room feeling too small and the air too thick.

“I don’t follow.” He practically whispers, as shocked as she is. She wishes he’d go back to snapping at her. It’s far too intimate and deceiving when he speaks so softly.

“The idea of having a partner. Someone to help me when I’m overwhelmed.” She tugs her captive hand from Ozai’s grip and crosses her arms back over her chest, “When we were on the run from the rebels, you were that person for me. Of course it took losing everything we had to make us a somewhat real family.” Everything is too warm and too close. He must be responsible for the unreasonable heat in the room.

“Out of necessity.” He murmurs, and his breath brushes her cheek. Both of them knew Ozai had never been much for family, but the situation had forced him into the role of an involved father, “I don’t know if that man exists anymore.” He’s still speaking too calmly for her liking. Her eyes flick away and then he’s closer still. Warmer still. She feels she might combust.

“I know.” The only way his face would be this close would be if he bent down. Her heart jumps into her throat and, again, she feels as if she can’t breathe. She can interpret most of the racing of her heart as pure anxiety, the taste of the last man’s mouth still on her lips, but there is something distant that she doesn’t try to unpack. She’s frozen where she stands until he’s sharing her breath. His lips graze hers and she recoils, her head hitting the wall behind her with a painful _thunk_.

“Stop.” She says in a voice that quivers without her control. Her hands abandon her own skin to press against his chest. She shoves, but there’s nowhere for him to go and he’s only moved back by a few inches. This time he looks down at her nudity and a flush paints her face. She grabs her towel and covers herself, fidgeting with the edge of it.

“Leftovers.” She mimics his biting tone, “Even if I didn’t hate you, I’m not…I can’t do that right now.” She can see that he’s trying to strategize what to say. He may be a cruel man, but he’s smart. He knows the tact required to allow him a place under her roof for the time being.

“Understood.” He finally says, “You won’t be selling yourself again.” Ursa sighs, pinning the towel against herself with one hand and rubbing her face with the other.

“Ozai, I’ve told you. I need money. Working whatever odd jobs I can isn’t enough—” He turns to the door, grasping the handle and flicking the lock open.

“Don’t worry about it. I can promise you money if you promise me that you won’t even do such an act ever again. Whether you care about the honor of the royal family or not, letting peasants have their way with you is an unforgivable disgrace.” He says to the door. She shrugs.

“Alright, fine. If you can give me enough money to support me and the children, I’ll promise not to do anything like that ever again.” She has less than no faith in his deal. He had no access to the money the royal family used to have, and judging by the borrowed clothes he was wearing, he didn’t have any personal funds. But if he did somehow manage to come through, she would be happy to have her body to herself again.

“Then I’ll let you finish your bath.” He glances at her over his shoulder, eyes smoldering in an entirely different way, and shuts the door behind him. When she slips back into the water, it’s steaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live. Sorry about the hiatus, I needed a bit of a break from writing while I traveled and worked and so on so forth. I decided to come back with a bang, and throw the Urzai shippers a bit of a bone, as well as give you all a longer chapter. The plot is finally really going somewhere, now that I’ve established the relationships between everyone, and you can expect the action to pick up a bit more, as well as a change of scenery, next chapter. That will probably take some time to write, as I am still traveling.
> 
> Comments and reviews. It really helps get my lazy butt in gear.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conflicts and a plan arise.

Everything seems to settle for a few days until Lee finds the new boots sitting on his bed. More accurately, he falls on top of them as he tries to flop down onto his cot and lets out an embarrassing noise of surprise as he flounders to grab whatever it is that’s jabbing him in the back. He ends up lying awkwardly on his side, wrangling the boots out from underneath him and pulling them up triumphantly. The thrill of victory dies down considerably when he sees that it isn’t, in fact, a cat owl stalking in his sheets, but a pair of fine leather boots.

He sits up, resting the boots in his lap as he examines them. They’re made of smooth, thick leather that slides underneath his fingers like butter, but simultaneously feel like they could face a blade without harm. The stitching on the boots is intricate and meticulous. The soles are heavy and lined with steel along the edges that dully reflect the light. When he slides them on and stands, they feel as if they’re custom made for his feet.

He scowls down at them, not even bothering to sit before he tries to tug off the shoes. Jia walks in on her brother fumbling with a boot, hobbling between their beds. She doesn’t question it, pressing two fingers to his shoulder and throwing him off balance as she walks by. He settles back on his bed with a loud creak and a grunt.

“Should I even ask, at this point?” She questions, the golden trim of her deep crimson dress glinting in the light as she bends to reach under her bed. The simple black slippers she often wore seemed unbearably plain compared to the unfamiliar dress.

“That dress.” Lee comments. She looks over her shoulder at him, sliding on the slippers.

“I thought you were familiar with the concept. A dress is kind of like a…really long shirt. Does that help?” She teases, the painted color on her lips making the quip particularly biting. He squints to make sure he’s seeing her right.

“Is that makeup?” The smile falls from Jia’s vibrantly red lips and she turns to face him.

“Are there any other obvious things you want to point out?” She asks, crossing her arms, “Why are you so suspicious? Do you not like the boots mom got you? I thought they were nice.” He hadn’t ever managed to take them off with all his hobbling. He looks down at the boots, shifting his feet a little closer to himself.

“They are nice! That’s the problem. These must have been expensive and there’s only one way mom could have gotten enough money for boots like this and your whole—” Lee abstractly waves at her dress and face, “And I don’t like it.” Jia scoffs and sits on the edge of her own bed. The beds are close enough for their knees to touch.

“You’re not happy when we’re poor; you’re not happy when we have money. I think you’re just set on being unhappy.” She accuses, watching Lee slump back against the wall bordering his bed. He props a foot up on the edge of her bed, looking down at the sharp tip of the leather on his boot.

“How can you be okay with what mom had to do for the money to buy these nice things?” He says somberly, eyes still resolutely trained on his shoes.

“Because I like nice things.” She answers shortly, offering a wry smile when he breaks eye contact with his boot to give her a halfhearted glare, “Honestly, Lee. Mom is a grown woman, and she can do what she wants. I know you’ve got this whole hero complex when it comes to her, but there’s nothing you can do. And no, stealing doesn’t count as ‘doing something.’ That’s illegal.” Lee bolts up at that addendum, indignant.

“Prostitution is illegal!”

“Technically. But the Dai Li would sooner put a thief in prison than a whore. At least mom would have something to bargain with.” The casual way she speaks about matters like that make rage boil in Lee’s core, any articulate response being swept away with his annoyance.

He stands, storming out of the room.

“Fine! Go sulk by yourself.” She calls after him. His response is the clattering of the door behind him. It’s all he’s willing to give her when he’s this angry, and he knows silence will fair better than insulting her. So he just keeps going until he’s outside of the house, ready to slump onto the porch steps and glare at the floor until his mother comes to lighten his mood. He’s stopped, though, when he sees Ozai’s retreating form in the distance. It’s unmistakable with the way he carries himself, and he can just make out some kind of fabric draped over his arm.

He stands, and, without a second thought, follows.

* * *

Ozai’s regret is already starting to dig its claws into him before he’s even made it out of Ursa’s suburb. He mentally counts the days in his head, trying to figure out just how much time he’s wasted in this dump but stops himself before he can get to that depressing number. There was no possible way he was going to get paid for the job that had gotten him into this mess in the first place now, and he’s sure his employers will think he simply died in the attempt.

He cards his hand through the hair, turning his gaze skyward as he walks. That thought should infuriate him, especially considering he most likely wouldn’t be getting any more money from those men ever again, but the rage he definitely is trying to feel is clouded by something. That _something_ is still too confusing and unnerving to pick apart, so he shoves it aside and tries to focus. Fixing his eyes back on the street in front of him, he continues with a single-mindedness that hadn’t failed him yet. He continues north via back alleyways to avoid the late afternoon crowds, and keeps the towering wall in the distance in view.

It’s a tedious trek, and a convoluted one with how many times he takes a wrong turn or runs into a dead end, but he welcomes the idle challenge of it. The maze-like layout of the city keeps his mind occupied as he travels to his goal. It keeps him from thinking about how close he’d gotten to her, or the way his chest had tightened when she’d spoken to him in the bathroom. Scaling the flimsy wooden gate blocking his path prevents him from focusing on the way her eyes bore so deeply into him that he was sure she could see every sin he’d committed in the past fifteen years. Keeping his footing on the rugged cobblestone ensures that he doesn’t think about how he’d almost kissed her and how he’d _wanted_ to kiss her more than he had any right to—

He stops, suddenly, realizing he’s met yet another dead-end. He’s blocked by towering apartments on two sides, and a pile of rubble and garbage gathered between them prevents any movement forward. Perhaps mindlessly trudging forward hadn’t been the best strategy, and circling back now would cost him at least half an hour, if not more. So he cautiously continues forward, looking to the buildings on either side for anything that might help him across. He eventually finds what he’s looking for in the form a decrepit and weather beaten rope hanging from one of the balconies above. He can just barely grasp the end of it when he stretches onto the tips of his toes, bracing himself against the building as he slowly ascends the coarse rope. It protests with worrying creaking sounds from both the rope and the balcony, but doesn’t give way. Climbing up onto the balcony and dusting off the empty bags draped over his arm, he uses his new vantage point to survey the route ahead.

What he doesn’t expect is to see Zuko standing on the ground below, on the opposite side of the rubble that Ozai had just scaled with so much effort. He can see the boy’s smirk from a distance.

“These apartments are empty. You could’ve just gone through one of the doors on the first floor.” He calls up, gesturing to the open door he’d apparently emerged from.

“And how was I to know that?” Ozai asks, realizing that now that he’s up here he’s not sure how he’s supposed to get down. The rope is tied to the opposite side of the balcony and he’s sure if he disturbs it, it’ll turn to dust.

“You would know that if you’d taken me with you to do whatever you’re doing right now.” Zuko can clearly see Ozai’s dilemma, raising a hand to nonchalantly scratch at his chin and cover his mouth at the same time. The tone of his voice indicates the smug smile it’s hiding, “Why don’t you come down?”

“Don’t rush me, boy!” Ozai snaps and grips the railing of the balcony tightly. The eroded wood crumbles under his hold, and he tosses the woodchips aside.

“I’m not.” Zuko shrugs, sitting on the dirt and crossing his legs beneath him. Ozai huffs and backs up slightly, preparing to just jump and hope for the best.

“I know what I’m doing. I’m—” The balcony crumbles, snapping off from the building and adding to the already existing mound of debris below. The problem of how to get down is solved swiftly as Ozai gracelessly tumbles to the ground, coming to a stop a few inches from Zuko. He turns onto his back, glaring up at him.

“If you say even one word it will be your last.” Zuko doesn’t react to the threat, keeping his hand over his mouth as his shoulders shake with a repressed chuckle. Ozai ignores him, getting back on his feet and gathering his bags back off of the ground.

“Are there any other helpful tips I should know before I nearly fall to my death again?” Ozai asks sourly, picking at a loose thread of his bag absently in an attempt to preserve some dignity and ignore the throbbing of what are sure to be a fresh crop of bruises in the spots that had made contact with the ground.

“Not unless you take me with you.” Zuko answers, standing as Ozai starts to walk away, “Hey!”

“I don’t need your advice. Go back home before your mother tears apart this cesspit looking for you.” He says without looking back. He continues in his blind pursuit north.

“But—she knows I came to find you!” Zuko follows, of course, and tugs on the end of Ozai’s shirt. It doesn’t stop the man any more than as if he hadn’t grabbed him at all.

“Does she?” Again, he doesn’t look at his son. Zuko continues with just as much enthusiasm anyway.

“Yes! And she said—”

“Fine. You can come.” He cuts Zuko off before he can quote whatever _she_ ’ _d_ told him. He was trying to keep her out of his mind at the moment.

“Oh.” Zuko deflates slightly, almost seeming disappointed that Ozai had conceded so easily, “Where is it that we’re going?”

“The Upper Ring.” If anything good comes of the boy’s intrusion, Ozai at least gets a chuckle out of the way Zuko practically chokes on air.

* * *

Sneaking into the Middle Ring isn’t difficult, with the regular illegal and legal passage of Lower Ring merchants back and forth, nor is navigating it. It’s much more sensibly laid out, and there aren’t so many fences and piles of garbage blocking his routes. He’s also more familiar with the area. He’d practically lived here during a period when he’d enjoyed the benefits of one of his more preferred employers, and if he didn’t have a fidgeting child trailing him he might have visited her. As it stands, Zuko is very much still following him.

“We’re trying to avoid the Dai Li and you’re basically going into their _headquarters_?” He questions, and Ozai tries to count how many times Zuko’s said that to him. Somewhere around five or six times, he’d wager.

“We’re still avoiding them.” He answers again, his voice a monotone as he kneels before the great wall separating the middle and upper rings, “But they have their uses.” He digs a finger into the seam between the rough stones making up the walkway along the wall and pulls out the thick latch sealing it shut.

“When the Dai Li need to get around undetected, they use their own tricks. They may be skilled, but they aren’t magical.” Ozai answers before Zuko can ask what he’s doing, pulling up the entire stone slab with some effort to reveal the tunnel entrance beneath, “And what better trick than that of the mole?”

 “A hole?” Zuko asks, peering into the pitch-black darkness. From here, it looks like you could fall forever. Ozai makes an annoyed sound and tears a handful of leaves from a nearby concealing bush. He lights them aflame and drops them into the hole, lighting up the walls of it until they reach the bottom and illuminate the slight bend out of sight.

“A tunnel. Now go, before someone sees us.” Zuko hesitates, looking between Ozai and the tunnel.

“It’s safe?”

“Enough.” Ozai’s curt response doesn’t inspire much confidence, and Zuko continues to hesitate. Ozai loses his patience quickly, grasping the boy’s shoulder and practically throwing him into the hole. He watches for a moment, seeing a flash of light before the tunnel returns to its former darkness. He hears a heavy breath before he has to duck back to avoid the stream of fire that shoots up at him.

“You could have killed me!” Zuko barks up at him, throwing up another blast weakly.

“I presumed you would be used to that by now.” Ozai responds, keeping a grasp on the handle inside of the hatch as he slides down into the tunnel. He hangs from the handle of the closed hatch, all light of day now blocked out as he drops down to the floor of the tunnel. A lively but controlled ball of fire spawns over his palm, lighting Zuko’s unimpressed face. Ozai’s lets himself choke out a legitimate laugh before he pushes past him and leads the way. The walk is long and silent, the only real sounds being the crunching of dirt under boots and the subtle crackling of the fire over his palm.

Eventually, he sees odd lights dancing off of the walls of the tunnel and looks back to find the source. He sees Zuko idly toying with a tiny flicker of fire. He spawns it over a couple fingers, sends it into his other hand, and lets it live there for a few moments before tossing it upwards and extinguishing it. He repeats this a couple of times.

“You are…improving, I suppose. Not a total failure.” Ozai says quietly, but in the silence of the tunnel it seems obnoxiously loud. He holds his jaw tightly as he speaks, the begrudging compliment not coming out without a fight.

“Really?” He asks, that tiny flicker hovering over the tips of his fingers seeming to jolt at the recognition, “I’ve been practicing but I wasn’t sure it was doing anything. I tried asking Jia but well…she’s Jia, so she wasn’t much help.”

“I see.” Ozai thoroughly regrets complimenting him at all, now stuck in this awkward position of not knowing how to continue the conversation. He tries to let it die, but the silence instantly turns awkward. Zuko’s little game of tossing the fire back and forth becomes a little less rhythmic as he too tries to ignore the awkwardness of the silence. Meanwhile, Ozai’s flame flickers wildly from almost extinguishing itself to getting a little too large for comfort. He knows he needs to control his thoughts better when actively bending fire, but there’s too much to think about in the silence. Ursa, Zuko, Azula, his past, his future—it all swims in this confusing flurry. Trying to sort the secrets, facts, lies and half-truths alone is enough to make his head spin.

He looks back at Zuko, and considers coming out with the entire truth about who he is—about whom both of them are. Zuko looks up at him, letting the spark between his hands fizzle out. Ozai takes a deep breath.

“Do you remember what I told you before? About Azula?” Ozai looks forward again, not sure he can appropriately do this while looking right at him.

“Of course. I didn’t think you wanted to talk about it anymore.” He says quietly at the floor.

“I don’t. This isn’t about her—perhaps it’s related, but that’s besides the point—it’s about her brother.” Ozai takes automatic steps, not thinking about anything but how much of a mistake this is.

“You had a son, too?”

“Yes, I do.” Ozai turns his head slightly, but his eyes only glance off of Zuko.

“Do? Is he still alive?” Zuko leans forward with intrigue, enough so that Ozai can practically feel his warmth against his back.

“Yes.” Ozai feels like there’s something caught in his throat. How do you tell someone news like this? How do you admit to it? “You…” He starts, looking anywhere but at his son, and because of this he spots the cracks of light shining from above.

“We’re here.” Ozai says with a little too much relief in his tone. He considers it a sign from the spirits themselves that now isn’t the time.

* * *

They’re in the Upper Ring for less than an hour and already the bags over their shoulders are overbearingly heavy with coin. Their weight does wonders for the nervousness nagging at Lee, and every time he dips a hand into the bag to feel the smooth slide of coins against his palm those paranoid thoughts of discovery get a little quieter. Ozai’s proposal to take money—real money, not just a few copper or silver pieces—for his mother and sister had been one that had taken some time to warm up to. Not much time, but time.

They’ve taken small quantities from dozens of sources; hardly enough for any of the Upper Ring nobles to even take note of, but combined it’s quite the hefty sum. With what he can tell from the weight alone, as well as the two similar bags roped over Ozai’s shoulder, this is enough to comfortably fund his family for months if not years if they used it frugally. It was too good to be true to imagine that all of their problems could be solved in one evening by a man who seemed only interested in himself up until this point. Far too good to be true.

Lee stops at that thought, looking hard at Ozai’s back as he passes by. The man is lost in his own thoughts, idly thumbing at the strap of one of his bags and looking at the ground as he walks. Lee has to call his name to get him to even notice that his companion isn’t following him.

“Not so loud!” He suddenly snaps before relaxing somewhat once he realizes no one in the thinning group of citizens in the distance seems to have taken much notice, “What?”

“Why are you doing this?” Lee asks, jostling his bag and making the coins rattle.

“Do I really have to answer that? Surely you know what currency is for.” Ozai gives that taunting smirk that grinds on Lee’s nerves like no other.

“No. Why are _you_ doing this? What are you getting out of it?” Lee asks, tone going harsher as he speculates and starts to build suspicion upon suspicion, “How much of a cut are you taking out of this? Or are you just going to take all of it and you used me to help get it for you—” Ozai’s clamps his hand over Zuko’s mouth before he can finish his accusation, dragging him out of the view of the street.

“Firstly, when you are committing a crime, you do not announce that you are committing a crime in the middle of the street. It may look safe, but there could be people listening. The Dai Li tend to have overreaching ears.” Ozai says sternly and slowly, as if he’s speaking to a particularly slow child, “Secondly, I’m taking a few coins. The rest is going to your mother. Satisfied?” He lets go of Lee’s mouth to let him speak but stays close in case his voice gets too loud again. Lee takes a long moment to respond, staring down the man for any signs of a lie and finding nothing but annoyed sincerity.

“And you’re doing this out of the kindness of your heart?” Lee asks. An odd glint of something crosses Ozai’s eyes, and the smile he gives this time is bitter. It’s loaded with a double meaning.

“I’m not sure.” A heavy silence settles in the air. Lee tenses, bracing his hands against Ozai’s shoulders and shoving to give himself some distance. The double meaning takes on a sinister light.

“Did you touch her? Is this some kind of payment?” They both know what he means by a word as innocent as _touch_. Lee fumes at the idea, fire begging to be called forth with his rise in emotions. He’s learning, though, so he can control it. He channels the heat through his core and defuses it until it settles like thrumming warmth under his skin. It’s more empowering than it is overwhelming now.

“What kind of beast do you think of me?” Ozai asks, arms crossed and posture stiff, “You must think I’m an idiotic one, at that. Who pays this kind of money to bed a woman?” And then he’s walking again, already finished with Lee’s inquiries.

“So…” Lee scrambles to follow him, trailing at a safe distance but still speaking quietly, “You haven’t…done anything with her?”

“Actively avoided it, actually. Your mother and I aren’t the best of—” Lee collides with Ozai’s back as he comes to a sudden stop, his words ending just as quickly. Lee peaks around him and sees the gathering that’s drawn his attention. The group practically move as one, the dark swaths of their robes melding together in the slight breeze and the brims of their hats just barely touching as they step together in sync. A Dai Li patrol, and a large one, heading straight for them. They haven’t seemed to notice the pair quite yet, but as soon as Ozai takes a step back and collides with Lee, drawing a surprised sound from the boy behind him, the group’s full attention is on them.

All that warmth thrumming under his skin suddenly chills with fear and he looks up to Ozai for any indication of what he’s supposed to do. Ozai looks back at him for only a second, unsure but with mental cogs turning. He can’t tell what that gaze had meant, so he prepares himself for a fight either way. He digs the heels of his new boots into the dirt, establishing his ground. He flexes his fingers at his sides, trying to draw that warmth back out of hiding. He breathes deeply, fueling the fire.

“What is your business?” The nearest Dai Li agent asks as they come to a stop. That too, they do in unison. As Ozai squares his shoulders and—to Lee’s shock—does a shallow bow of respect, Lee starts to count the number of Dai Li they’re up against.

“My son and I—” Ozai’s hand clamps roughly on Lee’s shoulder, forcing him out from behind him and completely breaking that balance he’d worked so hard to establish, “We are returning from a trip to the Agrarian Zone. Which would explain the…attire.” He gestures to both of their clothes that are dark and spotted with dirt from their travel through the tunnels. They’re hardly Agrarian farmer’s clothes, but it would explain the dirt.

“That’s quite the trip. Why would you bother going all the way out there?” The Dai Li agent asks, instantly suspicious. Lee tries to reestablish his ground so he can at least stand a chance for a few moments when the agent sees through their thin lies.

“It helps keep the child humble. Growing up in all of this…” Ozai abstractly waves at the well kept buildings around them, “It can spoil him.” Lee can just barely see the agents face from his vantage point that sits considerably lower than Ozai’s. The man’s eyebrows knit together before he concedes with a curt nod.

“I suppose it could.” He shifts his attention to Lee, “Did you learn something today, boy?” Ozai has to shake his shoulder slightly to get him to respond.

“Huh—oh, uh yeah.” Another, rougher, shake from Ozai. Lee looks up in confusion before he sees Ozai mouth a word, “I mean yes, _sir_.”

“Good. Now, where is your residence? I can give you an escort.” His patrol has already started moving on without him, the Dai Li agent sure that his offer would be accepted. Ozai’s quick panic is masked brilliantly with a lighthearted chuckle and yet another squeeze to Lee’s shoulder. He’s starting to lose feeling in that arm, and the ache of a future bruise resonates deeply.

“That won’t be necessary. I thought I’d reward my son with…” The pause he takes to dart his eyes back and forth to survey for nearby shops is quick, almost too fast to notice, “Tea. It’s been a long day and that teashop is just his favorite. Isn’t it?” Lee’s smile is a little more pained than it should be, considering Ozai’s death grip on his shoulder.

“Yes. I love…” Lee panics as well momentarily as he tries to figure out where Ozai had spotted the tea shop, finally seeing what he hopes is the shop’s name, “the Jasmine Dragon. It’s my favorite.” The Dai Li agent seems satisfied, nodding.

“Not surprising, considering it’s the best in Ba Sing Se. You’d better hurry, though. I think it closes soon.” He says good-naturedly. Astoundingly, it seems they’re getting away with their lies. Ozai is already partially dragging Lee away and towards the teashop.

“Of course! Have a good night, sir.” The agent tips his hat, but doesn’t turn away. He watches them closely and Ozai’s grip finally releases from Lee’s shoulder. He rubs it sorely, looking up at Ozai with concern.

“What are you doing? The tunnel is the other way.” Lee whispers up at him as they walk towards the teashop and away from their escape. Ozai doesn’t look down at him, but Lee can see the tendons in his neck held tight with fear.

“He’s making sure we’re going where we said we were going. So lets go have some tea, _son_.” Ozai hisses out the title, reaching the doors of the shop and pulling them open with just a little too much force. Lee peaks in and is immediately overcome by the smells of various herbs and blends and the sights of the decadent furnishing. Everything is in vibrant shades of green and gold with delicately painted and stitched dragons littering the tiles and tapestries. It’s possibly the most beautiful teashop he’s ever seen, and it makes Lee hesitate. He doesn’t belong here. He could never belong here, in this room, with this money weighing down his shoulder. All of this feels wrong and out of place and like it’s all some strange dream that’s become too real and he wants nothing more than to give all the money back and run all that way back to his bed. He’ll pull the sheets over his head and wake up to his mom’s gentle chiding.

“I’m sorry, but we’re closed.” A voice calls from behind a counter on the far side of the room, the speaker hidden as they root around in the innards of the counter for something. Ozai enters with an unwilling Lee anyway, closing the doors behind both of them.

“We’ll only be here a few minutes.” Ozai says distractedly, tilting his head to try and catch a glimpse of the Dai Li agent through the slats covering the windows, “I don’t even want tea.”

“Interesting that you would come into a teashop, then.” A small gasp resonates from behind the counter as the clerk finds whatever it was he was searching for. He pops his head up and sets a beaten up clay kettle down on the counter, sparing the two of them a glance. Ozai is entirely focused on seeing where the Dai Li agent is, back turned to the clerk, so his friendly gaze differs to Lee.

“Would you like tea, then?” He asks as he pours the water into the kettle and it’s a wonder the battered old thing can even hold water, “I was going to try out an experimental blend anyway. I might as well get a second opinion since you’re here.”

The clerk emerges from behind the counter to bring the kettle to the nearby stove, revealing more of his form. He’s older, the entirety of his hair grayed and pushed back over his broad shoulders. He’s a stocky man who might have once been powerfully built in his day, but had been softened out into rounded curves with age. He looks away from the kettle to search for an answer, and Lee discovers that he has the decidedly golden eyes of someone of Fire Nation descent, though they are a few shades darker than either his or Ozai’s. The name of the teashop suddenly makes sense.

“I…I guess. How much?” Lee is already digging around his bag, trying to fish out the lower value coins.

“I don’t even know if this will be drinkable! I’m not going to charge you for it. Take a seat, please. Your friend can take sit as well if he wants.” The clerk settles into a chair nearest the stove, tapping the opposite side of the table. Lee purposefully dusts himself off before sitting in the chairs made from fine wood.

“Ozai?” Lee calls over his shoulder. Ozai immediately turns to face him and the clerk, the breath already taken in to correct him—again—not to use his name in the Upper Ring. He stops, though; all color seeming to drain from his face as he releases the breath in a nearly silent, “ _Oh_.”

“Ozai?” Lee repeats, confused. He follows Ozai’s stunned gaze over his shoulder and sees that the clerk is wearing much the same expression. Lee’s still just as confused, if not more than before. The two men just stare at each other, frozen in the tense air of the moment. No one dares to speak for reasons unknown to Lee, and it’s so dead silent in the shop that when the kettle whistles loudly, both men seem to come to life in an almost comical way. The clerk bangs his knees against the underside of the table as he jolts in surprise and Ozai stumbles back against the door in what appears to be an attempt at fleeing. He can’t seem to remember where the door’s handles are, though, and just plasters himself back against the wood instead.

The clerk finally looks away, stands and answers the kettles call. He pours the tea into three small cups and sets them at the table. He looks back to Ozai, a tired, sad smile tugging at only one corner of his lips.

“Come have some tea, then, brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Dedicated to Carolina. You know what you did.
> 
> I’m back! Chapters are still going to be coming at a snails pace because of college, but I promise I haven’t forgotten about this story. R +R and all that.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, I’m back with yet another Avatar fic. This one is really experimental, being the first true AU (as opposed to canon divergence) I’ve done in years. It’s kind of inspired by Anastasia, and a little by the Aladdin trilogy (not confirming which parts of the trilogy to keep from spoiling anything.) Hopefully I haven’t lost too many people? Comments and reviews are encouraged, of course, just so I know I’m not screaming into the void. 
> 
> Also, don’t expect every chapter to be 7500+ words. This one was just so much exposition and set up that it got away from me. Regular chapters should be somewhere more around 3500 – 5000.


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